THE  JAMES  K.   MOFFITT  FUND. 

LIBRARY  OF  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT  OF 

JAMES  KENNEDY  MOFFITT 

OF  THE  CLASS  OF  '86. 


,  189     . 
Accession  No.  _  .828.5I4    Class  No. 


Professor  Raymond's  Seven  Volumes  Containing  a  System  of 

COMPARATIVE  AESTHETICS 

I. — Art  in  Theory.     8°,  cloth  extra       .        .         .         .         .         .     $1.75 

"Scores  an  advance  upon  the  many  art-criticisms  extant.  .  .  .  Twenty  brilliant  chap- 
ters, pregnant  with  suggestion.  .  .  .  An  author  not  bound  by  mental  servitude." — Popu- 
lar Science  Monthly. 

"A  well  grounded,  thoroughly  supported,  and  entirely  artistic  conception  of  art  as  a  whole, 
that  will  lead  observers  to  apply  its  principles  .  and  to  distrust  the  charlatanism  that 
imposes  an  idle  ar-d  superficial  mannerism  upon  the  public  in  place  of  true  beauty  and 
honest  workmanship." —  The  New  York  Times. 

44  His  style  is  good,  and  his  logic  sound,  and  .  of  the  greatest  possible  service  to  the  stu- 
dent of  artistic  theories."—  A rt  Journal ( London). 

u  Every  careful  reader  must  be  delighted  at  the  handling  of  the  subject,  at  once  so  har- 
monious and  symmetrical  as  well  as  natural  .  .  it  appears  in  a  form  which  one  may  almost 
call  artistic  in  itself."—  The  Dial,  signed  by  E.  E.  Hale,  Jr. 

II. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form. 

III. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art.     8°,  cloth  extra     .         .     $1.75 

14 1  have  read  it  with  pleasure,  and  a  sense  of  instruction  on  many  points." — Francis  Tur- 
ner Palgrave,  Professor  of  Poetry,  Oxford  University. 

44  Dieses  ganz  vortreffliche  Werk.    —  Englische  Studien,  Universitdt  Breslau. 
"  There  are  absolute  and  attainable  standards  of  poetic  excellence.     Perhaps  they  have 
never  been  so  well  set  forth  as  by  Prof.  Raymond.    — Boston  Traveller. 
"Treats  a  broad  and  fertile  subject  with  scholarly  proficiency  and  earnestness,  and  an 
amplitude  and  exactness  of  illustration  that  make  his  work  definitely  and  clearly  explicit." 
— New  Orleans  Times-Democrat. 

IV. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts. 

With  225  illustrations.  8°  .  .  ,  .  .  ..  «  $2.50 
"  The  artist  will  find  in  it  a  wealth  of  profound  and  varied  learning ;  of  original,  suggest- 
ive, helpful  thought  .  of  absolutely  inestimable  value.  He  will  perceive  more  perfectly 
than  ever  before  the  representative  character  of  art,  and  how  it  can  be  used  as  a  medium 
of  human  thought  and  emotion." — The  Looker-on. 

"Expression  by  means  of  extension  or  size,  .  shape,  .  regularity  in  outlines  .  .  the  human 
body  .  posture,  gesture,  and  movement  .  are  all  considered.  .  A  specially  interesting 
chapter  is  the  one  on  color." — Current  Literature. 

"  The  whole  book  is  the  work  of  a  man  of  exceptional  thoughtfulness,  who  says  what  he 
has  to  say  in  a  remarkably  lucid  and  direct  manner  " — Philadelphia  Press. 

V.— The  Genesis  of  Art-Form.     Fully  illustrated.     8°         .         .    $2.25 

"  In  a  spirit  at  once  scientific  and  that  of  the  true  artist,  he  pierces  through  the  manifesta- 
tions of  art  to  their  sources,  and  shows  the  relations,  intimate  and  essential,  between 
painting,  sculpture,  poetry,  music,  and  architecture.  A  book  that  possesses  not  only  sin- 
gular value,  but  singular  charm." — N.  Y.  Times 

'A  help  and  a  delight.     Every  aspirant  for  culture  in  any  of  the  liberal  arts,  including 
music  and  poetry,  will  find  something  in  this  book  to  aid  him." — Boston  Times. 
"  It  is  impossible  to  withhold  one's  admiration  from  a  treatise  which  exhibits  in  such  a 
rare  degree  the  qualities  of  philosophic  criticism." — Philadelphia  Press. 

VI. — Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and   Music.     Together  with 
Music  as  a  Representative  Art.     8%  cloth  extra          .     $1.75 

"  Prof.  Raymond  has  chosen  a  delightful  subject,  and  he  treats  it  with  all  the  charm  of 

narrative  and  high  thought  and  profound  study." — New  Orleans  States. 

"  In  other  ways,  Prof.  Raymond  s  book  calls  for  high  praise,  and  in  nothing  more  than  for 

the  gallant  way  in  which  he  stands  for  higher  ideals  in  art  than  those  which  are  popular  in 

these  days." — Springfield  Republican. 

44  The  reader  must  be,  indeed,  a  person  either  of  supernatural  stupidity  or  of  marvellous 

erudition,  who  does  not  discover  much  information  in  Prof.  Raymond's  exhaustive  and 

instructive  treatise.    From  page  to  page  it  is  full  of  suggestion." — The  Academy  (London). 

VII. — Proportion  and   Harmony   of  Line   and    Color  in   Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture.    With  131  illustrations.  8°.     $2.50 

4i  One  need  not  be  a  scholar  to  follow  this  scholar  as  he  teaches  while  seeming  to  entertain  ; 
for  he  does  both."—  Burlington  Hawkeye. 

44  Future  criticisms  of  art  will  be  incomplete  if  they  do  not  take  into  account  this  solid  con- 
tribution to  knowledge  of  the  subject."  —  Chicago  Post. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS,  NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


THE    REPRESENTATIVE 
SIGNIFICANCE 

OF 

FORM 

AN   ESSAY  IN 

COMPARATIVE    AESTHETICS 


BY 

GEORGE   LANSING  RAYMOND,  L.H.D. 

PROFESSOR  OF  AESTHETICS  IN  PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY 

AUTHOR    OF    "  THE    ORATOR'S    MANUAL,"    "  ART    IN    THEORY,"     "  POETRY    AS    A 

REPRESENTATIVE  ART,"    "  PAINTING,  SCULPTURE,  AND  ARCHITECTURE  AS 

REPRESENTATIVE  ARTS,"    "THE  GENESIS  OF  ART-FORM,"  "RHYTHM 

AND   HARMONY   IN   POETRY  AND  MUSIC,"   "PROPORTION  AND 

HARMONY     OF     LINE     AND     COLOR     IN     PAINTING, 

SCULPTURE,   AND   ARCHITECTURE,"   ETC. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Ifcnfcfcerboc&er  press 

1900 


COPYRIGHT,  1900 

BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Ube  Tfcnichcibocfcer  press,  View 


PREFACE 

'"PHIS  volume,  an  analysis  of  the  thought  in  which  will 
be  found  clearly  indicated  in  the  headings  of  the 
chapters  in  the  Table  of  Contents,  completes  a  series  of 
essays  begun  several  years  ago  on  the  subject  of  Compar- 
ative ^Esthetics.  But  while  the  last  to  be  published,  the 
volume  is  the  second  in  the  order  in  which  the  members 
of  the  series  are  to  be  arranged,  and  was  the  first  to  be 
planned,  as  also,  with  exception  mainly  of  Chapters  V.  to 
VII.  and  IX.  to  XL,  the  first  to  be  written.  The  manu- 
script has  been  left  lying  in  my  desk  for  so  many  years 
for  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  I  was  not  certain  that 
the  general  conception  of  art — indirectly  underlying  if 
not  directly  expressed  in  the  volume — could  be  applied  to 
all  the  details  of  each  of  the  arts  ;  and  the  only  course 
that  could  make  me  certain  was  to  think  the  subject  out 
to  the  end  of  all  its  possible  ramifications.  While  pur- 
suing this  course,  I  produced  the  other  volumes.  In  the 
second  place,  the  particular  theory  of  the  relations  be- 
tween the  mind's  conscious  and  subconscious  actions, 
which  appealed  to  me  at  that  time  as  a  vague  suggestion, 
I  had  not  verified  ;  and  my  conceptions  of  the  importance 
and  reach  of  the  subject,  as  well  as  of  the  responsibilities 
of  authorship,  were  such  that  I  did  not  feel  justified  in 
publishing  opinions  that  were  not  grounded  upon  thorough 
investigation.  Such  investigation  is  attended  with  diffi- 
culties ;  and  if  pursued  with  an  application  of  every  test 
which  one's  mind  is  capable  of  devising,  is  a  work  of  years. 

iii 


82851 


IV  PREFA  CE. 

This  book  contains  no  records  of  preparatory  processes ; 
but  the  conclusions  reached  in  it,  and  the  views  implied  in 
them  would  have  little  value,  were  they  not  conformable  to 
results  obtained  by  the  broadest  feasible  outlook  over  the 
whole  field  of  phenomena  with  which  they  are  connected. 
There  are  very  evident  reasons  for  the  importance  of 
the  subject  thus  studied  as  applied  to  art.  The  tran- 
scendentalists  of  New  England  who,  fifty  years  ago,  were 
exercising  the  most  pronounced  of  any  effect  upon  the  art 
and  literature  of  our  country  were  constantly  confound- 
ing artistic  inspiration  with  religious  inspiration.  The 
tendency  of  this  mistake  was  not  only  to  minimize  in  re- 
ligion the  importance  of  the  spiritual,  because  this  was 
conceived  to  be  the  same  in  kind  as  the  distinctively  hu- 
man in  art ;  but  to  minimize  in  art  also  the  importance 
of  the  material, — i.  e.,  of  the  material  product  as  given  form 
through  skill  in  technique, — because  the  whole  desired  ef- 
fect was  conceived  to  be  attained,  as  in  religion,  by  merely 
giving  adequate  and  accurate  expression  to  the  results  of 
inspiration.  Emerson  himself,  not  only  in  his  practice  but 
in  his  theory,  almost  always  goes  astray  when  he  approaches 
this  subject  of  art-form.  On  the  other  hand,  the  followers 
of  the  French,  who,  during  the  last  twenty-five  years, 
have  occupied  in  our  country  the  position  formerly  occu- 
pied by  the  transcendentalists,  are  constantly  confounding 
artistic  observation  with  scientific  observation ;  and  the 
tendency  of  their  influence  is  not  only  to  minimize  in 
science  the  importance  of  imaginative  hypothesis  as  a  pre- 
requisite for  the  discovery  of  great  underlying  principles, 
because  they  conceive  that  science  has  the  same  interest 
in  the  mere  appearances  of  nature  that  art  has  ;  but  to 
minimize  in  art  also  the  importance  of  imaginative  con- 
struction embodying  the  great  truths  of  analogy  ;  because 


PREFA  CE.  v 

they  suppose  the  end  to  be  attained  in  art,  as  in  science,  by 
an  accurate  study  of  the  facts  of  nature  as  they  are,  poems 
or  paintings  being  ranked  according  to  the  literal  fidelity 
with  which  they  recall  or  imitate  the  details  of  that  which 
has  been  observed. 

The  two  tendencies  of  art  thus  exemplified,  and  the 
constant  inclination  of  the  mind,  when  perceiving  the  de- 
ficiency in  the  one,  to  turn  altogether  away  from  it  to  that 
which,  when  regarded  in  itself  alone,  causes  equal  de- 
ficiency in  the  other,  make  one  feel,  at  times,  as  if  it  were 
wellnigh  hopeless  to  try,  as  has  been  attempted  in  these 
volumes,  to  introduce  into  the  conceptions  of  American 
artists  and  critics  even  a  beginning  of  that  balance  be- 
tween the  two  which  always  characterizes  the  highest 
art, — that  of  ancient  Hellenism,  for  instance,  which  was 
equally  careful  to  reproduce  only  the  ideal  in  thought 
and  only  the  beautiful  in  form.  I  have  concluded  that 
nothing  could  more  certainly  accomplish  the  desired  end 
than  a  practical  recognition  of  the  relationship  of  art  both 
to  religion  on  the  one  hand  and  to  science  on  the  other, 
together  with  a  recognition  of  the  natural  limitations  to 
art  which  such  a  double  relationship  necessarily  involves. 

The  facts  with  reference  to  this  relationship  could  not 
well  be  brought  out  without  the  thorough  discussion  in 
Chapters  V.  to  XII.  inclusive.  I  am  free  to  admit,  how- 
ever, that  aside  from  its  bearings  upon  art,  I  became  in- 
terested, as  I  was  writing,  in  the  discussion  for  its  own 
sake.  Many  of  the  conclusions  reached  are  unusual,  and 
may  prove  satisfactory  to  few.  The  materialist  may  not 
like  them  because  they  concede  too  much  to  the  spirit- 
ualist, and  the  spiritualist  because  they  concede  too  little ; 
while  the  conventional  Christian  may  demur  because  they 
seem  to  let  down  certain  bars  which  it  pleases  him  to 


VI  PREFA  CE. 

think  that  the  Almighty  has  put  up  to  separate  him  from 
the  world  to-day,  as  similar  bars  separated  the  Jew  from 
the  Gentile  of  old.  However,  it  is  the  duty  of  an  author 
claiming  to  be  a  seeker  of  truth  to  publish  the  truth  which 
he  thinks  that  he  has  found  ;  and  if  he  do  so  without 
reserve,  he  may  be  confident  that  the  result  will  be  a  help 
to  some  of  his  readers  whose  minds  work  as  his  mind 
does.  Besides  this,  in  view  of  the  acknowledged  skeptical 
tendencies  of  the  scientific  and  historic  criticism  of  the 
present  age,  it  is  not  a  valueless  contribution  to  general 
thought  to  show  that  all  that  is  needed  for  the  highest 
spiritual  stimulus,  all  that  is  vital  to  practical  religion, 
even  to  the  vaguely  guided  life  of  faith  which  character- 
izes the  Christian  religion,  can  command  acknowledg- 
ment and  acceptance  upon  its  own  merits — even  with 
such  an  one  as  delegates  many  of  its  mysteries  to  the 
realm  of  mystery  where,  though  suggestive  and  possible, 
he  cannot  recognize  them  to  be  provable.  There  are 
always  some  who,  like  a  boy  whistling  through  the  dark 
to  keep  up  his  courage,  imagine  that  the  need  of  the 
world  in  a  period  of  doubt  is  a  strong,  emphatic,  and  even 
extravagant  expression  in  an  opposite  direction.  Yet  if 
it  be  never  right  or  wise,  or  even,  in  the  long  run,  ex- 
pedient, to  pretend  to  be  certain  about  that  which  is 
merely  probable,  any  method  of  regarding  the  subject 
in  question  that  renders  such  forms  of  expression  not 
only  unnecessary,  but  unphilosophical,  ought  to  be  wel- 
comed. Besides  this — to  say  nothing  of  religion — what  a 
revival  of  art  there  might  be,  in  an  age  which  many  deem 
too  materialistic  to  be  at  all  poetic,  if  only  what  is  un- 
folded in  these  pages  with  reference  to  the  subconscious 
and  the  spiritual  could  be  widely  recognized  to  be  true ! 
It  is  hoped  that  the  last  half  of  this  volume  will  prove 


PREFA  CE.  vii 

especially  satisfactory  owing  to  the  endeavor,  through 
the  thorough  analysis  of  the  whole  subject,  to  make  the 
definitions  and  characteristics  of  epic,  realistic,  and  dra- 
matic art,  together  with  their  various  subdivisions  in  the 
different  arts,  appear  inevitable.  The  same  may  be  said 
of  what  is  unfolded  with  reference  to  the  particular  phases 
of  significance  which  each  art  is  fitted  to  express,  as,  in 
accordance  with  the  analogies  of  form  in  nature,  the 
art-form  is  presented  in  space  alone,  or  in  time  alone,  or 
in  both  combined.  The  fundamental  thought  of  this 
part  of  the  discussion  was  suggested,  of  course,  by  Less- 
ing  in  "  The  Laocoon."  But  the  subject  has  been  de- 
veloped, much  further  than  by  him;  and  some  of  the 
conclusions  are  based  upon  conceptions  entirely  different 
from  his. 
PRINCETON,  N.  J.,  January,  1900. 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

PAGE 

SIGNIFICANCE  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  THE  ELEMENTS  OF 
NATURAL  FORM  IN  SPACE  AND  TIME  TRACED 
AS  FAR  AS  TO  ORGANISM,  LlFE,  AND  IMPORT  .  I-II 

Art-Form  as  Appealing  to  the  Senses  and  Sense-Influenced  Imagi- 
nation— Significance  Includes  an  Appeal  to  both  Thought  and 
Emotion — Object  of  the  Present  Volume — Thoughts  and  Emotions 
Derived  from  Experience — Those  of  Art  Derived  from  Experience 
of  Nature — Certain  Fundamental  and  General  Suggestions  of 
Nature  to  the  Mind — Space,  Time,  Existence,  Matter,  Movement, 
Force,  Arrangement,  Operation — Method  of  Operation — Every 
Object  Bears  Relations  to  Space  and  Time — A  Rock — A  Musical 
Tone — Every  Object  in  Bearing  Relations  to  both  Space  and  Time 
Suggests  Methods  of  Operation — Suggestions  of  Organism — Of 
Life — Of  Import. 

II. 

HIGHER  SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  THE 
ELEMENTS  OF  NATURAL  FORM  IN  SPACE  AND 
TIME:  THE  INFINITE,  THE  ETERNAL,  AND  THE 
ABSOLUTE 12-25 

An  Appearance  or  Form  may  be  Connected  with  all  Space  or  all 
Time — The  Apprehension  of  a  Method  of  Operation  in  a  Small 
Form  may  Involve  some  Apprehension  of  that  in  the  Whole 
Universe — Do  Forms  in  Nature  Reveal  Anything  of  the  Infinite, 
the  Eternal,  and  the  Absolute? — Testimony  of  Art  and  Philoso- 
phy— Of  Religion — These  Inferences  Drawn  from  the  Forms  of 
Nature,  yet  not  as  they  Appear  in  Space  alone — Nor  in  Time 
alone — But  in  both — How  they  Suggest  the  Infinite — The  Eternal 
— The  Absolute — Suggestions  of  the  Absolute  not  Inconsistent 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

with  those  of  the  Infinite  and  the  Eternal — Unity  in  Mode  and 
Diversity  in  Operation — Illustrated  by  a  Spiral — Appearances  of 
Nature  as  Suggesting  a  Divine  Living  Intelligence — Men  and 
Animals  Express  Intelligent  Life  through  Material  Appearances 
in  Space  and  in  Time  Combined,  or  by  Methods  of  Operation — 
Arguing  from  Analogy  to  Modes  of  Expression  of  Divine  Intelli- 
gence— Human  Expressions  of  Feeling — Divine  Expressions  of 
the  Same — Human  Expressions  of  Character — Divine — Applica- 
tion of  the  Subject  to  Art. 

III. 

THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:  THE  NATURE  OF  TRUTH 
AS  INDICATED  BY  THE  SOURCES  TO  WHICH  MEN 
ATTRIBUTE  IT,  AND  THE  TERMS  BY  WHICH 
THEY  CHARACTERIZE  IT  .  .  .  .  .  .  26-38 

The  Value  of  Significance  Determined  by  the  Truth  in  it — Scien- 
tists and  Philosophers  Search  for  Truth  behind  Appearances  in 
Space — And  in  Time — Therefore  Conceive  it  to  be  not  alone 
in  the  Appearances  themselves — But  in  these  as  Related  to  Cer- 
tain Methods  of  Operation  — Same  Facts  Shown  by  the  Treatment 
Given  to  Formal  Statements — The  Truth  in  them  Discovered  by 
Regarding  Relations  to  Surrounding  Circumstances — Therefore  to 
Methods  of  Operation — Absolute  Truth  as  Existing  without  Ref- 
erence to  Relations — Necessity  of  Considering  Methods  of  Oper- 
ation Shown  by  Men's  Ways  of  Characterizing  Truth  :  Meanings 
of  the  Adjective  True — Further  Meanings — The  Meanings 
when  Material  or  Bodily  Conditions  are  Compared  with  Mental 
or  Spiritual — Its  Meanings  when  Applied  to  Language — The 
False  in  Language  is  a  Want  of  Conformity  to  a  Method  of  Opera- 
tion in  a  Mental  Process — Summary  of  the  Meanings  of  the  Word 
True — Of  the  Word  Truth  :  Its  Special  and  General  Applica- 
tions. 

IV. 

THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE  :  THE  NATURE  OF 
TRUTH  AS  INDICATED  BY  THE  METHODS  IN 
LANGUAGE  AND  LIFE,  THROUGH  WHICH  MEN 
EXPRESS  IT  .  , 39-60 

Objections  to  the  View  Presented  in  the  Third  Chapter — Truth  as 
Expressed  in  Language  should  not  be  Confounded  with  the 


CONTENTS.  xi 

PAGE 

Formula  :  Illustrated  from  Interpretations  of  the  Bible — Its  History 
Noteworthy  for  the  Methods  and  Results  of  Life,  etc.,  which  the 
Events  Exemplify — Its  Prophecies  Valuable  for  their  Fulfilment 
not  only,  but  Applicability  to  Laws  Operating  everywhere— Confir- 
mation of  this  Principle  of  Interpretation  of  the  Bible  in  its  Expla- 
nations— Its  Arguments — Its  Injunctions — Real  Meaning  Lost 
when  Truth  is  Supposed  to  be  Conformed  to  Formulae  alone,  and 
not  alsp  to  Methods  of  Operation — Importance  of  Observing  this 
Distinction — The  Use  of  the  Word  Truth  in  the  Bible  —  Illus- 
trations— Truth  as  Expressed  in  Life — Truth  to  the  Divine  Spirit 
is  Action  in  Conformity  with  the  Divine  Method — Truth  is  Per- 
ceived in  the  Process  of  Searching  for  it — Dangers  of  Supposing 
Progress  or  Change  Inconsistent  with  Absoluteness  in  Truth  :  The 
Source  both  of  Infidelity  and  Bigotry — Right  Views  of  Truth  as 
a  Corrective  of  these  —  The  Truth  in  Revealed  and  Natural  Re- 
ligion Lies  in  its  Method — He  who  Recognizes  this  a  Friend  to 
both  Progress  and  Permanence — Inferences  from  the  View  here 
Presented  —  A  Few  Forms  in  Space  may  Reveal  Universal 
Methods — One  Mind  may  Represent  God — And  One  Life,  if  Full 
of  Love — The  Mission  of  the  Friend — Comfort  in  this  Suggestion 
— The  Changes  of  a  Few  Moments  in  Time  may  Reveal  "Universal 
Methods — Child  or  Man,  with  Short  or  Long  Life,  may  both  have 
Experience  of  them. 

V. 

SIGNIFICANCE,  RELIGIOUS,  SCIENTIFIC,  AND  ARTISTIC, 
AS  RESPECTIVELY  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  MENTAL 
ACTION,  PREDOMINANTLY  SUBCONSCIOUS,  CON- 
SCIOUS, AND  BLENDED 61-85 

Results  Reached  in  the  Foregoing  Chapters — Mental  and  Material 
Conditions  Preceding  the  Recognition  of  Truth  —  Religious, 
Scientific,  and  Artistic  Conceptions — How  they  Differ — Religious 
or  Spiritual  Meaning — The  Occult  Side  of  the  Mind — Proof  of 
Subconscious  Intellection  in  Memory,  Fright,  Fever — Hypnotism 
— Its  Effects  Allied  to  those  of  Art — Germs  of  Hypnotic  Sugges- 
tion— Subconscious  Philosophical  and  Mathematical  Intellection — 
Resulting  from  Previous  Conscious  Action  as  in  Skill — Not  Result- 
ing from  Previous  Conscious  Action  :  Coburn,  Mozart,  Blind  Tom 
— Subconscious  Diagnosis  of  Disease  at  a  Distance — Subconscious 
Apprehension  of  Distant  Occurrences  —  Both  in  Space  and  in 


xii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Time — Mind-Reading  and  Mediumship  —  Automatic  Writing  — 
The  Truth  and  the  Limitations  of  Spiritualism — Hudson's  Theory 
— The  Investigation  of  the  Subject  Justifiable. 

VI. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  MENTAL  ACTION: 
RELIGIOUS  CONCEPTIONS  HAVING  THEIR 
SOURCE  IN  INSPIRATION  .  .  .  .  '  .  86-m 

Subconscious  and  Conscious  Influences  Found  in  all  Intellection, 
but  the  Main  Source  of  it  Different  in  Religion,  Science,  and  Art 
— Making  it  in  Each  Different  in  Kind — Origin  of  Religious  Con- 
ceptions Concerning  a  Future  State  of  Rewards  and  Punishments 
— Often  Attributed  to  Material  Causes — Should  be  Attributed  to 
Influences  from  Nature's  Occult  Side — Shown  in  Susceptibility  of 
the  Primitive,  Uneducated  Man  to  Such  Influences — Instinct  and 
Reason — Instinctive  and  Reflective  as  Correlated  to  Subconscious 
and  Conscious  Intellection — Result  of  Subconscious  Intellection 
Allied  to  the  Teachings  of  Nature  and  Religion — To  the  Mental 
Action  of  Animals — Of  Negroes,  Indians,  and  those  Subject  to 
Hallucinations,  with  Inferences  therefrom — Like  Inferences  with 
Reference  to  the  Origin  of  Religion  Drawn  from  Primitive  Re- 
ligious Customs — With  the  Growth  of  Intelligence  Physical  Occult 
Manifestations  are  Considered  Less  Important  than  Verbal — But 
the  Verbal  Continue  to  be  Associated  with  Subconscious  Intellec- 
tion— Truth  Obtainable  from  this  Depends  on  Suggestion  De- 
veloped in  it — Truth  of  the  Suggestion  Depends  on  Conscious  as 
well  as  Subconscious  Intellection  Exercised  by  Some  One — The 
Conscious  Mind  Modifies  Everything  Received  from  the  Sub- 
conscious, Making  it  not  Less  Inspired,  but  More  Intelligent — 
This  the  Condition  in  Inspired  Writings — Intellectual  Progress 
Resulting  from  this  Form  of  Inspired  Influence. 

VII. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  MENTAL  ACTION: 
RELIGIOUS  CONCEPTIONS  HAVING  THEIR 
SOURCE  IN  INSPIRATION;  ARTISTIC  IN  IMAGI- 
NATION ........  112-136 

Form  of  Inspiration  partly  Dependent  on  the  Human  Mind  as 
Developed  by  Environments  of  Place  and  Time — This  Theory 


CONTENTS.  xiii 

PAGE 

Explains  the  Gradual  Development  of  Truth  in  the  Revealed 
Scriptures — Also  the  Necessity  for  Spiritual  Discernment :  no  Form 
is  an  Adequate  and  Complete  Expression  of  the  Spiritual —  Trac- 
ing all  Inspired  Writing  to  or  through  the  Same  Subconscious 
Mental  Processes  Need  not  Impair  Authority  or  Authenticity  of 
the  Scriptures — Nor  Need  the  Attributing  of  Signs  and  Wonders 
to  Sources  not  Divine — Conformity  of  this  View  to  the  Theories 
of  Modern  Biblical  Criticism — The  Three  Tests  of  the  Truth  in 
the  Scriptures  :  Conformity  to  Previous  Information — To  Results 
of  Intuitive  Judgment — To  Results  of  Rational  Inference — Differ- 
ent Views  of  Scriptural  Inspiration  Conformable  to  the  Theory 
here  Presented — Bearings  of  this  Subject  upon  Artistic  Sympathy, 
the  Zeit-Geist,  Imagination — Differences  between  Inspiration  and 
Imagination — Failure  to  Recognize  the  Differences  Detrimental  to 
Both  Religion  and  Art  —  Influence  of  Recognizing  it  upon 
Opinions  Concerning  Religion  —  Concerning  Art  —  Nevertheless 
Art  Lessens  Materialism  and  Traditionalism,  and  Aids  Religion, 
but  is  not  a  Substitute  for  it — Religion  an  Aid  to  Art. 

VIII. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  MENTAL  ACTION: 
SCIENTIFIC  CONCEPTIONS  HAVING  THEIR 
SOURCE  IN  INVESTIGATION  ;  ARTISTIC  IN  IM- 
AGINATION    I37~i54 

Results  of  Scientific  Investigation  to  be  Contrasted  with  those  of 
Artistic  Imagination — Quotation  from  Huxley  Showing  Scientific 
as  Contrasted  with  Religious  View-Point — Is  equally  far  from 
View-Point  of  Art — The  Difference  in  View-Point  is  Owing  to  a 
Difference  between  a  Desire  to  Investigate  and  to  Imagine — Scien- 
tific Interest  is  in  Preceding  Conditions,  Artistic  in  Conditioned 
Effects — The  Detailing  of  Results  of  Investigations  is  Inartistic 
in  Literature — Quotations  from  Gay — From  Scott — Expression 
of  Results  of  Imagination  from  Tennyson — Of  Investigation  from 
West— Of  Imagination  from  Homer — Criticism  upon  an  Explana- 
tion of  a  Quotation  from  Shakespeare — This  Distinction  of  Uni- 
versal Applicability — Thought  in  Modern  Art  Different  in  Range 
from  Ancient — Justification  for  Introduction  of  Philosophy  and 
Science  in  Art — Scientific  Investigation  Overlooks  Nothing  :  Ar- 
tistic Imagination  Regards  only  the  Prominent  and  Emphatic— 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Scientific  Comparison  is  a  Result  of  Thorough  Stu.dy  :  Artistic  is 
not — Yet  Being  a  Result  of  Sub-Intellection,  in  an  Instructed 
Mind,  it  may  be  Accurate — Scientific  Conclusions  are  Corrected 
at  every  Stage  by  Results  of  Investigation:  Artistic  are  not — In- 
ferences therefrom  against  and  in  Favor  of  the  Artist — Science 
cannot  Cross  the  Border  of  the  Unseen  :  Art  can — Art  Connects 
Religion  and  Science — Artist  must  be  Something  of  a  Scientist. 

IX. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  MENTAL  ACTION: 
RELIGIOUS  CONCEPTIONS  CHARACTERIZED  BY 
FAITH;  ARTISTIC  BY  IDEALITY  .  .  .  155-163 

Connection  of  Thought — Faith,  like  Conscience,  Related  to  Sub- 
conscious Control — Manifested  in  Practice  as  well  as  in  Opinion 
— Thus  Interpreted,  Faith  Allows  for  Possibilities  of  Difference 
Owing  to  Degrees  and  Kinds  of  Intelligence  —  Artistic  Concep- 
tions— These  are  Characterized  by  Ideality — Faith  and  Ideality 
usually  Go  together,  and  Tend  to  Develop  one  another — Art  as 
an  Expression  of  Religious  Faith  Fails  both  as  Art  and  as  Re- 
ligion; Art  Does  the  most  Good  when  Attending  to  its  own 
Business. 

X. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  MENTAL  ACTION: 
SCIENTIFIC  CONCEPTIONS  CHARACTERIZED  BY 
KNOWLEDGE;  ARTISTIC  BY  IDEALITY  .  .  164-173 

The  Knowledge  Resulting  from  Investigation,  and  its  Limitations 
— Ideas  and  Ideals — Occupy  an  Intermediate  Position  between 
Knowledge  and  Faith — Enabling  us  to  Experience  through  Imagi- 
nation that  of  which  we  cannot  have  Knowledge — Quotation  from 
Shakespeare  —  Wordsworth — Differences  between  the  Man  of 
Ideality  and  of  None — Quotations  from  The  Prelude — Peter  Bell 
— These  Differences  as  Important  in  their  Bearings  upon  Success 
in  Science  as  in  Religion — Shown  by  Tracing  the  Method  through 
which  an  Observation  of  One  Fact  Leads  to  the  Discovery  of  a 
General  Law — The  Effect  upon  the  Mind — Ideals  Stimulate  to 
Effort  in  both  Art  and  Science — Conclusion. 


CONTENTS.  XV 

PAGE 

XI. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  MENTAL  ACTION: 
RELIGIOUS  CONCEPTIONS  TENDING  TO  EX- 
PRESSION THROUGH  SPIRITUALLY  INFLUENTIAL 
SUGGESTION;  ARTISTIC  THROUGH  ANALOGICAL 
REPRESENTATION  ......  174-191 

Subconscious,  Conscious,  and  Blended  Intellection,  as  respectively 
Tending  to  Spiritual  Suggestion,  Logical  Formulation,  and  Ana- 
logical Representation — Inference  from  Hypnotism  Concerning 
Connection  between  Influencing  Subconscious  Intellection  and 
Giving  Suggestions  —  How  Religion,  as  Distinguished  from 
Science  and  Art,  Influences  Feeling,  Thought,  and  Conviction 
Suggestively,  Shown  from  the  Methods  of  Jesus  —  From  the 
Nature  of  what,  Coming  from  the  Subconscious  Region  and  Hav- 
ing to  Do  with  the  Unseen  World,  cannot  be  Formulated — This 
True  as  Applied  to  the  Imaginative  Phraseology  of  Art — More 
True  as  Applied  to  the  Inspired  Phraseology  of  Religion  :  Dog- 
mas Not  True  Scientifically — Nor  many  Statements  in  Scripture 
— Importance  of  this  View — How  Religion  Suggestively  Influ- 
ences Life,  Conduct  and  Character — Illustrated  from  the  Analogy 
of  Freedom  of  Action  under  Hypnotic  Control — Conversion — Re- 
ligious Methods  Rendered  more  Apprehensible  by  the  Analogy 
between  them  and  Methods  of  Hypnotism — The  Law  of  Self- 
sacrifice — The  Christ,  Creation,  Future  Life  —  Why  Suggestive 
Influence  is  Necessary  to  Stimulate  Spiritual  Life — It  is  the  only 
Spiritual  Influence  upon  the  Mind  in  Harmony  with  that  of  Ex- 
ternal Nature — Difference  between  Suggestive  Expression  in  Re- 
ligion and  Representative  in  Art — Art  Benefits,  even  religiously, 
in  the  Degree  in  which  it  Confines  itself  to  Representation, 
Shown  in  Poetry — In  Sculpture  and  Painting. 

XII. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  MENTAL  ACTION: 
SCIENTIFIC  CONCEPTIONS  TENDING  TO  EXPRES- 
SION THROUGH  LOGICAL  FORMULATION;  ARTIS- 
TIC, THROUGH  ANALOGICAL  REPRESENTATION  192-207 

Introduction — Formulation  rather  than  Representation  Necessi- 
tated by  the  Sources  of  Scientific  Expression  —  By  its  Nature — 


XVI  CONTENTS. 


By  its  Results  :  Science  Presents  Thought  Logically  ;  Art,  Ana- 
logically— This  Latter  Fact  Renders  Form  Essential  in  Art — Also 
Significance,  which  is  the  Basis  of  the  Analogy  Expressed  through 
the  Forms — Difference  between  that  which  Looks  like  and  which 
also  Operates  like — To  Bring  out  the  Latter  Involves  a  Higher 
Effort  of  Imagination — Because  Making  Art  in  the  Highest  Sense 
Natural :  Illustrated  in  the  Novel,  Drama,  Ballad,  Descriptive 
Poetry — In  these  such  Comparisons  as  are  not  Based  on  Analogies 
Taken  from  Nature  are  not  Indicative  of  High  Imaginative  Gifts 
— The  Same  Principles  Apply  to  Conceptions  of  Poems  as 
Wholes — To  the  Use  of  Separate  Words — Same  Principle  Illus- 
trated in  Music — When  both  Artistic  and  Natural — Illustrated 
in  Painting  and  Sculpture — Further  Explanations — In  Architec- 
ture— That  Art  should  Represent  Analogies  through  Forms  not 
Inconsistent  with  its  Representing  Beauty — Relative  Use  in  Art 
of  Natural  Beauty  and  of  Ugliness — Representative  Expression  a 
Limitation  to  Art  ;  yet  the  Reason  why  its  Products  Have  such 
Enduring  and  Universal  Influence. 

XIII. 

ARTISTIC  SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  BODILY 
ACTION,  AND  HAVING  ITS  SOURCE  SUBJEC- 
TIVELY IN  TEMPERAMENT,  OBJECTIVELY  IN 
TRAINING  .  .  .  .  .  .  208-232 

Connection  between  the  Thought  in  this  and  in  Preceding  Chapters 
— Subjective  and  Objective  Relationships  of  Expression — Instinc- 
tive, Reflective  and  Emotive  Sources  of  Mental  Effects — Conscious 
Reflective  and  Investigative  Mental  Action  Slow — Subconscious  In- 
tuitive and  Imaginative  Action  Rapid — The  Two  Actions  do  not 
Differ  as  Thought  and  Feeling,  but  as  Unexcited  and  Voluntary 
from  Excited  and  Involuntary  Thought — The  Artistic  Involves 
Much  Emotion — The  Exciting  Cause,  being  Permanent  in  Some, 
is  Due  to  Temperament— Difference  between  Scientific  and  Artistic 
Temperament  largely  one  of  Degree — Some  necessarily  Excluded 
from  the  Sphere  of  Art,  Some  Included  in  it — Effects  of  Education 
and  Practice — They  Develop  Mental  through  Physical  Nature — 
Even  Develop  Possibilities  of  Genius — Illustrations — Connection 
between  Results  of  Artistic  Inspiration  and  of  Skill — Inspiration, 
or  Unhindered  Expression  of  Subconscious  Intellection,  Helped  by 


CONTENTS,  XVli 

PAGE 

Cultivation  of  Expression  and  Memory — Even  by  Scientific  Study 
— Broad  Culture  not  Injurious  to  the  /Esthetic  Possibilities — 
Here  as  elsewhere  Labor  the  Measure  of  Worth — Nothing  Neces- 
sary in  Religion  or  Science  Fails  to  be  an  Aid  to  Art. 

XIV. 

ARTISTIC  SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  BODILY 
ACTION,  AND  CHARACTERIZED  SUBJECTIVELY 
BY  A  PERSONAL  EFFECT,  OBJECTIVELY  BY  A 
SYMPATHETIC  ......  233-250 

Connection  between  the  Thought  in  this  and  the  Preceding 
Chapter — The  Surmisals  of  Art  those  of  One  Individual,  the 
Artist — Should  Have  a  Personal  Effect — A  Prose  Description  that 
Lacks  this  :  Scott — A  Poetic  :  Crabbe— A  Poetic  that  Exhibits  it : 
Byron — A  Prose  :  Dickens  — The  Latter  Descriptions  Show  the 
Effects  of  an  Intervening  Human  Mind — As  Personality  is  most 
Apparent  in  Unconscious  Action,  to  Represent  these  Effects  does 
not  Interfere  with  consciously  Representing  Nature  —  The  Per- 
sonality of  Artistic  Effects  is  Recognized  in  the  Universal  Prone- 
ness  to  Attribute  to  Artistic  Genius  Originality  and  Eccentricity 
— Personality  of  Effect  always  Appeals  to  Others  through  Awaken- 
ing Sympathy  for  or  against — So  the  Arts  are  the  Humanities — 
Illustrations  of  Artistic  Appeal  to  the  Sympathies — Explanation  of 
the  Passages — The  Principle  Involved — Why  Artists  Seem  often 
Interested  in  Technique  rather  than  in  Significance — Individuality 
of  Effect  not  Inconsistent  with  an  Appeal  to  Universal  Interest 
— Yet  the  Artist  must  Have  a  Peculiar  Temperament  to  Fulfil 
both  Requirements — Genius  Has  a  Temperament  Congenial  to 
Nature  and  Man  —  German  Words  Corresponding  to  Genius, 
Genial,  and  Geniality— Brilliancy — Art  Humanizes  Nature  ac- 
cording to  the  Sentiments  of  One,  yet  Accords  with  the  Senti- 
ments of  All. 

XV. 

ARTISTIC  SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  BODILY 
ACTION,  AND  TENDING  SUBJECTIVELY  TO  THE 
POSSESSION  OF  CULTURE,  OBJECTIVELY  TO  THE 
EXPRESSION  OF  SENTIMENT  ....  251-269 

Connection  between  Thought  in  this  and  in  the  Preceding  Chapter 
— Culture:  its  Relation  to  Training — Its  Development  through 


xviii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Art-Study  —  Sentiment  as  Defined  by  Kames  and  Schiller — Is 
Characteristic  of  Artistic  Expression — The  Tendency  of  the  Dis- 
tinctively Artistic  to  Express  and  Awaken  Sentiment  is  a  Test  by 
which  to  Distinguish  it  from  the  Religious  Influencing  Conduct 
and  the  Scientific  Imparting  Information  —  Inartistic  Examples 
from  Pollok  and  Wordsworth — But  it  must  not  be  Supposed  that 
Sentiment  itself  cannot  be  Religious  or  Scientific — Examples  from 
Tennyson  and  Shakespeare  —  Milton's  Expressions  of  Religious 
Faith  in  Form  of  Sentiment — Of  Information  to  Awaken  Senti- 
ment— Criticism  of  these  Passages — Mistake  of  Supposing  that  not 
to  Use  the  Religious  and  Scientific  except  for  Sentiment  Means 
the  same  as  not  to  Use  them  at  all — Great  Artists  have  Man- 
ifested a  Desire  to  Promote  Religion,  Morality,  and  Learning — 
Quotations  from  Shakespeare  Evincing  this  —  Shakespeare's, 
Dante's,  Milton's,  and  Wordsworth's  Affirmation  of  this  Desire 
— The  Great  Poets  Men  of  Education — Same  Facts  Exemplified 
in  the  Products  of  the  Great  Musicians,  Painters,  and  Sculptors — 
No  Inconsistency  between  the  View  Presented  in  this  Chapter 
and  that  which  Deems  Pleasure  the  Aim  of  Art — Sentiment  Meets 
all  Demands  of  this  Theory  and  Fulfils  them  better. 

XVI. 

ARTISTIC  SIGNIFICANCE  AS  CHARACTERIZED  BY  RE- 
LIGIOUS, SCIENTIFIC,  OR  DISTINCTIVELY  ARTIS- 
TIC TENDENCIES:  THE  GOOD,  THE  TRUE,  AND 
THE  BEAUTIFUL;  THE  SUBLIME,  THE  PICTUR- 
ESQUE, AND  THE  BRILLIANT;  THE  GRAND,  THE 
SIMPLE,  AND  THE  STRIKING;  THE  HORRIBLE, 
THE  PATHETIC,  AND  THE  VIOLENT  .  .  270-290 

Three  Artistic  Tendencies,  Religious,  Scientific,  and  Artistic — 
The  First  Leading  to  Instinctive  Subjective  Idealism  ;  the  Second 
to  Reflective  Relative  Realism  ;  and  the  Third  to  Emotive  Ob- 
jective Idealized  Realism — :Some  Tendencies  as  Developed  into 
the  Good,  the  True,  and  the  Beautiful,  etc. — The  Same  as  Differ- 
ently Developed  in  Serious  and  in  Playful  Conditions — The  Good, 
the  True,  the  Beautiful— The  Sublime,  Definitions  of  —  With  Il- 
lustrations from  Milton — Michael  Angelo — Coleridge — Shakespeare 
— The  Bible — Other  Definitions — The  Picturesque — Illustrations — 
Explanations— The  Brilliant— Illustrations— The  Brilliant  and  the 


CONTENTS.  xix 

PAGE 

Beautiful — The  Former  Distinctively  a  Development  of  the  Latter 
— Why  the  Brilliant  rather  than  the  Beautiful  should  be  Con- 
trasted with  the  Sublime — Indefiniteness  of  Definitions  of  this — 
Resulting  Effects  of  these  Tendencies  are  the  Grand,  the  Simple 
— The  Striking — Serious  Developments  of  these  in  the  Horrible 
— The  Pathetic — And  the  Violent — All  these  Tendencies  Mani- 
fested in  all  the  Arts. 

XVII. 

ARTISTIC  SIGNIFICANCE  AS  CHARACTERIZED  BY  THE 
SAME  THREE  TENDENCIES  IN  NON-SERIOUS  CON- 
DITIONS: THE  BURLESQUE,  THE  LUDICROUS, 
AND  THE  RIDICULOUS,  AS  IN  THE  MOCK-HEROIC, 
PARODY,  AND  FARCE;  THE  GROTESQUE,  THE 
DROLL,  AND  THE  JOCULAR;  TRAVESTY,  HU- 
MOR, AND  WIT;  CARICATURE,  SATIRE,  AND 
SARCASM 291-309 

Playful  Conditions — Incongruity  as  in  the  Burlesque,  the  Ludi- 
crous, and  the  Ridiculous — The  Burlesque  in  the  Mock-Heroic — 
In  the  Parody — In  the  Farce  and  Pun — The  Ludicrous  in  the  Gro- 
tesque— Another  Example — In  the  Droll — In  the  Jocular — The 
Ludicrous  in  Travesty — In  Humor  and  Wit — Humor  Truthful, 
Wit  Beautiful  —  Humor  Picturesque,  Wit  Brilliant — Humor 
Simple,  Wit  Striking — The  Ridiculous,  as  non-Pleasurable  Play  in 
Caricature — In  Satire — In  Sarcasm — Similar  Developments  of  In- 
congruity in  Music — In  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture. 

XVIII. 

ARTISTIC  SIGNIFICANCE  AS  EXPRESSED  IN  FORM:  THE 
THREE  TENDENCIES  ALREADY  CONSIDERED  AS 
DEVELOPED  IN  THE  EPIC,  THE  REALISTIC,  AND 
THE  DRAMATIC  ......  310-322 

The  Good,  Sublime,  and  Grand  Developed  in  the  Epic  ;  the  True, 
Picturesque,  and  Simple  in  the  Realistic  ;  the  Beautiful,  Brilliant, 
and  Striking  in  the  Dramatic — Epic  Art  Defined — Realistic  and 
Dramatic  Art  Defined— A  Story  as  Told  Epically— Realistically 
— Dramatically — The  Epic  Developed  First  in  Order  of  Time — 


XX  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Dramatic  Later — Relative  Advantages  of  the  Different  Forms 
— Taine's  Criterion  Founded  on  the  Degree  of  Importance  of  the 
Character  Delineated  —  Indicates  Superiority  in  the  Epic  —  On 
the  Beneficence  of  the  Character — Also  Indicates  Superiority  in  the 
Epic — But  both  the  Realistic  and  Dramatic  Have  Points  of  Su- 
periority— And  may  Include  the  Excellences  of  the  Others — Im- 
portance of  Distinguishing  the  Three  Forms. 

XIX. 

THE  EPIC,  REALISTIC,  AND  DRAMATIC  IN  POETRY     .  323-348 

Epic,  Realistic,  and  Dramatic  Subdivisions  in  All  the  Arts — Neces- 
sity of  Certain  New  Terms  for  Some  of  these — Chart  of — Defini- 
tions of  the  Epic  Derived  from  Combining  Previous  Definitions 
—  Its  Symbolic  Form  —  Allegoric  Form  —  The  Epic  Proper  — 
Realistic  Poetry — Its  Didactic  Form — Wide  Range  of — Its  Nat- 
uralistic Form — Treating  of  Natural  Scenery — With  not  Sufficient 
Individualism  to  Awaken  Sympathy  —  Yet  Nature  may  be  Made 
Human  —  Narrative  Form  of  the  Realistic  and  the  Ballad — The 
Dramatic  as  Distinguished  especially  from  the  Epic — Its  Subjec- 
tive Form  in  the  Lyric — How  Differing  from  the  Didactic — The 
Naturalistic  Narrative — The  Protactic,  a  New  Term— But  Needed 
and  Applicable  ;  Illustrations — The  Drama. 

XX. 

THE    EPIC,    REALISTIC,    AND    DRAMATIC   IN   Music 

AND  PAINTING    .         .  .     .:  ».-'      .         .  349-366 

These  Forms  more  Difficult  to  Determine  in  Music  ;  yet  Distin- 
guishable— The  Epic  in  Music — The  Realistic — The  Dramatic — 
The  Three  Forms  in  Painting — Quotations  from  Others — Epic 
Painting  as  Symbolic — As  Allegoric — As  Epic  Proper,  Heroic  or 
Typical — The  Epic  in  Landscapes — The  Realistic,  its  High  Rank 
in  the  Arts  of  Sight ;  as  Decorative — As  Naturalistic  when  Imita- 
tive— When  Imaginative  as  in  Figures  or  Landscapes — As  His- 
toric, and  how  Differing  from  the  Dramatic  —  Quotations — 
Illustrations — The  Dramatic  as  Character-Painting — As  Panto- 
mimic— As  Dramatic  Proper — Dramatic  Landscape. 


CONTENTS.  Xxi 

PAGE 

XXI. 

THE  EPIC,  REALISTIC,  AND  DRAMATIC  IN  SCULP- 
TURE AND  ARCHITECTURE  ....  367-387 

The  Same  Principles  Apply  to  Sculpture  as  to  Painting  :  Epic — 
Realistic — Dramatic — Architectural  Effects  Dependent  on  Out- 
line in  the  Same  Sense  as  Effects  of  Painting  and  Sculpture — 
Effects  of  Epic  Tendency  in  Roundness — Of  Realistic,  in  Straight 
Lines  and  Angles — Of  Dramatic,  in  Curves,  Straight  Lines,  and 
Angles  Combined — Same  Respective  Effects  in  Human  Gesturing 
— Quotations  Confirming  these  Conclusions — The  Conventional 
Designations  of  Styles  of  Architecture  are  not  Determined  by  any 
Philosophic  Principle — What  is  Meant  by  Significance  and  Form 
and  the  Relations  between  them  in  Architecture — The  Three  Gen- 
eral Principles  of  Construction — Round  Caps  and  Arches — Other 
Coriespondences  to  the  Epic — Flat  Caps,  Entablature,  and  Hori- 
zontality — Other  Correspondences  to  the  Realistic — Pointed  Caps, 
Mixed  Lines,  and  Verticality  and  other  Correspondences  to  the 
Dramatic — Subdivisions  of  these  Three  General  Styles. 

XXII. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  THE  ELEMENTS 
OF  ART-FORM  IN  TIME  AND  SPACE  COMBINED  : 
IMPORT,  LIFE,  AND  ORGANISM  AS  SUGGESTED 
IN  POETRY 388-402 

Resume  of  the  Line  of  Thought  in  this  Volume — Have  still  to 
Compare  Significance  as  Represented  by  the  Underlying  Elements 
of  Form  in  Art  with  the  Same  in  Nature — Import,  Life,  and  Or- 
ganism as  Represented  in  Nature  through  Combined  Effects  of 
Movement  or  Operation  in  Time  and  of  Matter  or  Arrangement 
in  Space — Objects  in  Time  Suggesting  Space  Manifest  Progress 
— Objects  in  Space  Suggesting  Time  Manifest  Unity — Poetry  and 
Music  Manifest  Progress  Suggesting  Unity — Of  the  Two,  Poetry 
Suggests  More  Unity  ;  Words  Having  More  Meaning  than  Single 
Notes — Poetry  Suggests  Unity  also  through  Verse,  Metre,  Rhyme, 
Alliteration,  Assonance,  Refrains,  Choruses — Through  Repetition 
of  Epithets  and  Phrases  in  Blank  Verse — Through  Parallelism 
Causing  Expression  to  be  Prolonged  and  Reiterated — Two  Ex- 
tremes to  be  Avoided  :  One  the  Disproportionate  Emphasis  of 


XX 11  CONTENTS. 


Conditions  Tending  to  Progress  :  Doggerel — Corrected  by  Breadth 
of  View,  Introducing  Suggestions  of  Space — Other  Extreme  to  be 
Avoided  is  Disproportionate  Emphasis  of  Conditions  Tending  to 
Unity — How  Avoided  in  a  Shakespearian  Soliloquy — By  the  Poetic 
Hiatus  or  Ellipsis. 

XXIII. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  THE  ELEMENTS 
OF  ART-FORM  IN  TIME  AND  SPACE  COMBINED: 
IMPORT,  LIFE,  AND  ORGANISM  AS  SUGGESTED 
IN  Music  AND  ORATORY  .  .  .  403-414 

Unity,  or  the  Effect  of  Arrangement  in  Space  can  be  Suggested 
in  Connection  with  Progress  in  Music — By  Melody  when  its  Prog- 
ress is  not  too  Rapid  or  Slow  ;  and  is  Subject  to  a  constantly 
Recurring  Rhythm — By  Harmony,  when  its  Simultaneous  Tones 
are  Compounded  of  the  Successive  Notes  Developed  in  the  Melo- 
dies— Same  Principles  Apply  to  Developments  of  Themes  in  Long 
Compositions  —  Extreme  of  Disproportionate  Emphasizing  of 
Effects  of  Progress  to  be  Avoided  :  Illustration — Extreme  of  Dis- 
proportionate Emphasizing  of  Effects  of  Unity  to  be  Avoided  : 
Illustration — Tendency  of  Wagner  to  Emphasize  Unity  by  Sub- 
ordinating Melody  to  Harmony — Application  of  these  Principles 
to  Oratory  which  must  Manifest  Progress  not  too  Rapid  or  Slow, 
and  Unity  by  Regularity  in  Pauses  and  Rhythm,  and  in  Modula- 
tion— Gesture  as  Delivery  in  Space,  and  its  Influence  upon  Effects 
of  Life,  Organism,  and  Import — Must  not  Go  to  the  Extreme  of 
too  much  Movement  or  too  little. 

XXIV. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  THE  ELEMENTS 
OF  ART-FORM  IN  TIME  AND  SPACE  COMBINED: 
IMPORT,  LIFE,  AND  ORGANISM  AS  SUGGESTED 
IN  LANDSCAPE-GARDENING,  PAINTING,  SCULP- 
TURE, AND  ARCHITECTURE  .  ...  .  415-431 

Landscape-Gardening — How  it  may  Suggest  both  Progress  and 
Unity — One  Extreme  to  be  Avoided — Also  the  Other — Painting  : 
The  Scene  and  its  Precedences  and  Consequences — Painting  must 


CONTENTS.  xxiii 

PAGE 

Represent  a  Single  View — How  Progress,  as  in  the  Allegoric  Paint- 
ing, may  be  Appropriately  Treated — Immobility  in  Space  must 
not  be  too  Exclusively  Represented — The  most  Suggestive  Mo- 
ment must  be  Represented  :  Illustrated  from  Titian's  Methods 
— Same  Principles  Applied  to  Landscapes — Sculpture  :  Suggestions 
of  Progress  in  this  more  Difficult  than  in  Painting,  yet  not  Impos- 
sible— Two  Extremes  to  be  Avoided — The  Foremost  Statues,  even 
of  Single  Figures,  are  Full  of  Organic  Life  and  Import — A  Build- 
ing may  Suggest  Progress  or  Growth — The  Idea  or  Plan  of  it  Is 
the  Seed — The  Suggestion  of  Effects  in  Time  or  Growth  must  not 
be  too  Prominent — Nor  must  the  Suggestion  of  Effects  of  Fixed- 
ness or  Space — Neglect  of  these  Principles  in  Irregularity  of  Out- 
line and  Color  on  American  Streets — Of  Buildings  amid  Scenery 
which  are  Apparently  out  of  Place — Effects  of  Appearances  of 
Nature  on  the  Growth  of  Styles  of  Architecture. 

XXV. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  MAINLY  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  THE 
ELEMENTS  OF  ART-FORM  IN  TIME  ALONE  OR  IN 
SPACE  ALONE:  REPRESENTATION  IN  POETRY, 
Music,  AND  ORATORY,  AS  CONTRASTED  WITH 
THAT  IN  LANDSCAPE-GARDENING,  PAINTING, 
SCULPTURE,  AND  ARCHITECTURE  .  .  .  432-453 

Different  General  Conceptions  Demand  Different  Elementary 
Forms  of  Representation — Poetry  and  Music  are  both  Made  up 
of  Different  Phases  of  Sounds  Heard  in  Time  ;  Painting,  Sculp- 
ture, and  Architecture  are  Made  up  of  Different  Phases  of  Shapes 
Seen  in  Space — Sounds  that  Move  in  Time,  and  Shapes  that  Stand 
in  Space,  Represent  Differently — Form  of  Representation  Deter- 
mined by  what  the  Mind  Wishes  to  Express,  not  by  what  has 
Influenced  it :  a  Story  may  Represent  a  Scene — This  Principle 
Applied  to  Descriptive  Poetry — Talfourd — Crabbe — Wordsworth 
— Other  Examples — Why  in  Early  Ages  Poetic  Conceptions  are 
most  Clearly  Differentiated  from  those  of  Painting — Homer — His 
Method  as  Described  by  Lessing — The  Drama  and  the  Law  of 
the  Unities — Derived  from  Requirements  of  Other  Arts — Also 
from  those  of  Epic  Poetry — Why  English  Drama  did  not  Fulfil 
these  Laws — Architectural  Conception  at  the  Basis  of  Words- 
worth's "Excursion" — Non-Poetic  Conception  in  Other  English 


XXIV  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Poems — Non-Poetic  Description  of  Cathedral — Of  Natural  Scenery 
— Even  when  Imaginative — Passages  Illustrating  Poetic  Concep- 
tions— Another,  Illustrating  a  Painter's  Conception — Contrasted 
with  a  Poetic  One — Different  Classes  of  Poetry  Represent  Different 
Degrees  of  Movement. 

XXVI. 

SIGNIFICANCE  MAINLY  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  THE  ELE- 
MENTS OF  ART-FORM  IN  TIME  ALONE  AS  DIF- 
FERENTLY REPRESENTED  IN  POETRY,  Music, 
AND  ORATORY  ...  .  .  .  454-473 

Definite  Thought  as  Expressed  in  Poetic  Words,  and  Indefinite 
Emotion  in  Musical  Tones — Words  Cause  Imagination  to  See  as 
well  as  to  Hear  what  is  Referred  to — Poetry  of  the  Highest  Order 
Presents  a  Vision  of  an  Ideal  Realm — Even  when  Describing  Ob- 
jects Vague  in  Themselves — Lack  of  these  Effects  in  that  Poetry 
which  Subordinates  the  Verbal  to  the  Musical — Such  Poetry  Com- 
mon in  our  Own  Day — And  does  not  Exert  the  Legitimate  Influence 
of  Poetry — Contrast  between  Tennyson  and  Byron — Reasons  why 
Foreigners  Prefer  the  Latter — Comment  on  Byron's  Methods — 
Explanations  —  Expression  Appropriate  for  Musical  Tones — 
Printed  Explanations  of  Scenery  Accompanying  Musical  Com- 
positions no  Proof  that  Limitations  of  this  Form  of  Expression 
should  not  be  Recognized — Pleasure  from  Musical  Effects  is  In- 
dependent of  these  Explanations — And  of  the  Words  and  Acting 
in  Ballads  and  Operas — As  Shown  by  Various  Facts  with  Refer- 
ence to  Lovers  of  Music — Expression  in  Oratory  as  Limited  on 
its  Poetic  or  Musical  Side — And  on  its  Picturesque  Side. 

XXVII. 

SIGNIFICANCE  MAINLY  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  THE 
ELEMENTS  OF  ART-FORM  IN  SPACE  ALONE  AS 
DIFFERENTLY  REPRESENTED  IN  LANDSCAPE- 
GARDENING,  PAINTING,  SCULPTURE,  AND 
ARCHITECTURE  .  .  ...  .  474-492 

Landscape-Gardening  :  Difference  between  the  Conceptions  Appro- 
priate for  it  and  for  other  Arts  of  Sight — Painting  Attempting  to 


CONTENTS.  XXV 


Express  what  can  be  Represented  in  Poetry  only — Illustrations — 
Even  in  Legitimate  Allegoric  Paintings  the  Interest  is  Greatest  in 
Single  Figures — Some  Subjects  Appropriate  for  both  Painting  and 
Poetry,  but  must  be  Differently  Treated— The  Shield  of  Achilles 
as  Painted  and  as  Described  in  the  "  Iliad" — That  which  can  be 
Represented  in  Painting  Distinguished  from  that  in  Landscape- 
Gardening — In  Sculpture — In  Architecture — Difference  between 
that  which  can  be  Represented  in  Sculpture  and  in  Poetry — And  in 
Landscape-Gardening  and  Painting  :  The  Material  and  Lack  of 
Color  in  a  Statue  Emphasizes  Individual  rather  than  Associative 
Interest — The  Large  and  Grand  rather  than  the  Small  and  Trivial 
— The  Dignified,  Regular,  Parallel,  etc.,  rather  than  the  Oppo- 
site— The  Conception  of  Architecture  should  be  Peculiar  to  Itself 
— Injurious  Influence  of  its  Imitating  Methods  of  Representation 
in  Painting  or  Sculpture — Buildings  Conceived  as  Pictures  Tending 
toward  Inartistic  Styles — Conclusion — Explanations. 


THE  REPRESENTATIVE 
SIGNIFICANCE  OF  FORM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SIGNIFICANCE    ATTRIBUTABLE     TO    THE     ELEMENTS     OF 

NATURAL  FORM   IN  SPACE  AND  TIME  TRACED  AS 

FAR  AS  TO  ORGANISM,  LIFE,  AND  IMPORT. 

Art-Form  as  Appealing  to  the  Senses  and  Sense-Influenced  Imagination — 
Significance  Includes  an  Appeal  to  both  Thought  and  Emotion — Object 
of  the  Present  Volume — Thoughts  and  Emotions  Derived  from  Experi- 
ence— Those  of  Art  Derived  from  Experience  of  Nature — Certain 
Fundamental  and  General  Suggestions  of  Nature  to  the  Mind — Space, 
Time,  Existence,  Matter,  Movement,  Force,  Arrangement,  Operation 
— Method  of  Operation — Every  Object  Bears  Relations  to  Space  and 
Time — A  Rock — A  Musical  Tone — Every  Object  in  Bearing  Relations 
to  both  Space  and  Time  Suggests  Methods  of  Operation — Sugges- 
tions of  Organism — Of  Life — Of  Import. 

A  LL  the  higher  arts  produce  their  effects  through  what 
!*^  artists  and  people  in  general  seem  to  have  agreed 
in  terming  form.  This  term,  derived  from  the  Latin  word 
forma,  meaning  an  appearance,  refers,  primarily,  to  any- 
thing that  can  be  perceived  by  the  senses,  and,  in  the  higher 
arts,  for  reasons  given  in  Chapter  II.  of  "Art  in  Theory," 
by  one  of  two  senses, — that  of  hearing  or  of  seeing.  But 
besides  this,  the  term  has  a  secondary  and  metaphorical 
meaning ;  it  refers  to  any  conception  the  whole  and  the 


2  REPRESENTA  TIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

parts  of  which  appeal  to  the  imagination — i.e.,  the  imaging 
power  of  the  mind — in  a  clearly  articulated,  distinctly 
outlined,  or  graphic,  way,  so  that  one  may  liken  the  con- 
ception to  a  thing  that  the  senses  can  perceive.  This 
is  the  use  of  the  word  that  justifies  one  in  speaking  of  the 
form  of  an  oration  or  a  drama,  or  of  a  storm-scene  or  a 
battle-scene,  which  latter  he  may  have  only  in  mind  with- 
out any  intention  of  ever  putting  it  into  the  form  of  a 
picture.  Not  all  the  effects  of  art,  however,  are  limited 
to  such  as  can  be  thus  perceived  or  conceived.  There  is 
a  clear  distinction,  the  recognition  of  which  is  philo- 
sophically essential,  between  the  effects  of  a  form  phys- 
ically fitted  to  produce  a  certain  physiological  result  in 
the  ear  or  the  eye,  as  do  some  of  the  phenomena  of  tone 
or  of  color,  or  else  artistically  fitted  to  produce  a  certain 
psychological  result  or  image  in  imagination, — there  is  a 
clear  distinction  between  these  effects  and  the  implicit  or 
suggestive,  rather  than  explicit  or  arbitrary,  effects  upon 
thought  or  emotion,  which,  invariably,  when  the  mind 
perceives  art's  real  or  imagined  outlines,  seem  to  surround 
these  outlines  as  by  a  halo.  This  halo  of  thoughts  and 
emotions  surrounding  the  natural  form  as  represented  in 
the  art-product,  or  surrounding  the  image  of  this  product 
as  represented  in  imagination,  constitutes  what,  in  this 
volume,  will  be  termed  the  representative  significance.  As 
distinguished  from  the  significant  effects,  the  /^rw-effects 
might  be  termed  the  sensuous.  But  the  word  sensuous \. 
meaning  that  which  is  perceived  by  the  senses,  is,  in  the 
first  place,  subtly  suggestive  to  some  of  the  word  sensual, 
meaning  that  which  is  dominated  by  the  senses ;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  the  word  sensuous,  though  it  is  some- 
times figuratively  attributed,  as  when  speaking  of  a  vis- 
ually representative  style  of  poetry,  to  an  appeal  to  the 


MEANING   OF  SIGNIFICANCE.  3 

imagination,  is  not,  in  other  regards,  broad  enough  in 
meaning  for  all  the  uses  to  which  art  finds  it  necessary  to 
put  the  word  form.  This  word,  therefore,  seems  the  one 
best  fitted  for  the  conception  that  has  just  been  indicated. 

In  ordinary  language,  when,  by  using  one  thing  which, 
owing  to  its  nature,  we  can  see,  we  indicate  another  thing 
which,  owing  to  its  nature,  we  cannot  see,  nor  even 
imagine  as  having  any  particular  outlines  that  could  be 
seen,  as  when,  by  hanging  out  a  flag,  we  indicate  our 
patriotism,  we  are  accustomed  to  say  that  the  former  is 
the  signal  of  the  latter,  which  is  the  thing  signified.  It  is 
in  accordance  with  this  use  of  language  that,  in  the  pres- 
ent volume,  the  substance  of  the  thought  or  emotion 
represented  or  suggested  by  any  given  form  of  art  will 
be  termed  its  significance.  In  this  last  sentence,  the 
words  thought  and  emotion  were  both  introduced  inten- 
tionally. By  significance  in  art  is  meant  its  mental  as 
distinguished  from  its  material  effects,  whether  these  ma- 
terial effects  be  produced  by  the  external  form  itself,  or  by 
the  image  of  this  form  which  reflectively  appears  in  imagi- 
nation ;  and  thought  and  emotion  are  effects  as  inseparable 
in  mental  experience  as  perception  and  feeling  are  in  the 
experience  of  the  senses.  Indeed,  in  the  term  humanities ', 
so  often  applied  to  the  arts,  we  may  recognize  a  conception 
equally  suggestive  of  the  sources  of  understanding  and  of 
sympathy.  These  arts  address  not  only  the  senses  and 
the  sense-influenced  imagination,  but,  through  them,  the 
whole  range  of  the  mind's  activities. 

The  general  fact  that  all  the  higher  arts  are  audible  or 
visible  forms  representing  the  phenomena — or,  as  they 
are  technically  termed,  whether  appealing  to  ear  or  eye, 
the  appearances — of  material  nature  for  the  purpose, 
through  them,  of  representing  human  thoughts  and  emo- 


4  REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

tions,  was  brought  out  and  illustrated  in  the  introductory 
volume  of  this  series,  entitled  "  Art  in  Theory."  The 
object  of  that  book  was  to  examine  the  forms  of  art,  as 
we  find  them  developed  in  the  world  about  us,  in  order  to 
detect,  inductively,  the  sources  to  which  their  effects  are 
attributable.  The  present  book  has  for  its  object  to  be- 
gin the  work  of  tracing,  deductively,  these  effects  outward 
from  their  sources,  and,  in  doing  so,  to  direct  attention** 
to  the  principal  artistic  possibilities  toward  which,  when 
rightly  developed,  the  effects  tend.  In  endeavoring  to  at- 
tain this  end,  it  is  evidently  logical  to  start,  not  as  in  "  Art 
in  Theory,"  with  the  art-forms  ;  but  to  start  at  the  point 
reached  in  that  book,  i.  ^.,with  the  intellectual  or  emotional 
significance  which  was  found  to  be,  as  it  were,  behind  the 
art-forms.  But  besides  being  logical,  as  related  to  the 
general  course  of  thought  in  these  volumes,  this  method 
is  psychological.  It  conforms  to  that  necessarily  pursued 
by  the  artist  himself  the  moment  that  he  turns  from  con- 
siderations of  art  in  theory  to  those  of  art  in  practice.  In 
his  practical  work,  he  begins  with  effects  of  which  he  is 
conscious  in  his  own  mind,  and  only  later  considers  the 
ways  in  which,  through  his  products,  he  may  make  others 
conscious  of  the  same  effects.  The  present  volume  is 
designed  to  trace  the  steps  of  only  the  earlier  parts  of 
this  general  mode  of  procedure ;  in  other  words,  it  is 
designed  to  show  from  what  the  artist  derives  his  thoughts 
or  emotions,  what  is  their  character,  under  what  heads 
they  can  be  classified,  and  what  general  methods  of  ex- 
pression can  represent  them.  The  further  applications  of 
the  subject  to  the  particular  methods  peculiar  to  each 
of  the  arts  will  be  left  to  subsequent  volumes. 

When  we  speak  of  the  thoughts  or  emotions  that  art  is 
to  embody  in  form,  we  are  reminded,  at  once,  that  these 


SIGNIFICANCE  AS  DERIVED  FROM  NATURE.  5 

themselves,  sometimes  in  whole  but  always  in  part,  are 
derived  from  a  man's  experience ;  and  that  a  large  pro- 
portion of  his  experience  is  derived  from  the  appearances 
of  external  nature.  Moreover,  the  first  condition  of  art  is 
an  audible  or  visible  form  ;  and,  as  shown  in  Chapter  I. 
of  "Art  in  Theory,"  this  form  is  always  a  reproduction,  at 
least  partially,  of  something  perceived  in  nature,  which 
term  is  to  be  understood  as  including  not  only  non-human 
but  human  nature,  as  manifested  in  a  man's  actions  and 
utterances.  It  follows,  therefore,  that,  in  some  way,  one 
must  always  associate  with  nature  whatever  thoughts  and 
emotions  he  puts  into  artistic  form.  Otherwise,  he  could 
not  attribute  to  nature  any  possibility  of  representing  these; 
he  could  not  suppose  that,  by  using  natural  forms  as  he 
does,  he  could  suggest  his  thoughts  and  emotions  to  others. 

Accordingly  there  is  a  sense  in  which,  without  being 
sensationalists  or  materialists,  we  may  say  that  an  artist  is 
indebted  to  nature  not  only  for  the  forms  that  he  uses, 
but  also  for  thoughts  and  emotions.  For,  even  though 
thousands  of  these  latter  may  be  traceable  mainly  to  his 
own  mind,  his  mental  processes  in  themselves  are  inaudible 
and  invisible  ;  and,  when  he  comes  to  let  another  know  of 
them,  he  must  convert  them  into  a  form  which  another 
can  hear  or  see.  Especially  must  he  do  so  when  express- 
ing them  in  art  which  necessitates  form.  But  notice  that 
this  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  he  can  express  them  at  all 
only  so  far  as  somewhere  in  external  nature  he  has  recog- 
nized a  form  that  seems  fitted  to  express  them,  because  it 
has  already  represented  them  to  himself. 

This  statement  evidently  brings  us  to  the  question, 
What  are  the  methods  through  which  the  audible  or 
visible  forms  of  nature  represent  or  suggest  thoughts  or 
emotions?  Evidently,  too,  this  question  must  be  an- 


6  REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

swered  before  we  can  be  prepared  to  show  the  methods 
through  which  the  forms  of  art  can  suggest  the  same. 
Evidently,  again,  it  will  be  logical  to  determine  the  answer 
to  the  question  as  applied  first  to  such  suggestions  as  are 
more  fundamental  and  general,  and  advance  from  these  to 
those  that  are  more  inferential  and  particular.  In  pursu- 
ance of  this  course,  the  reader  will  recognize  the  sub- 
stantial accuracy  of  the  following : 

Space  Matter  Arrangement  Organism 

Time  Movement  Operation  Life 

Existence  Force  Method  of  Operation  Import 

These  four  columns  are  intended  to  indicate  the  order 
of  the  development  of  the  elementary  suggestions  of  na- 
ture, all  the  later  ones  in  the  list  being  dependent  on  all 
that  precede  them.  As  will  be  noticed,  the  most  funda- 
mental of  these  suggestions  are  those  of  space  and  time, 
which,  together,  are  conditions  enabling  us  to  form  a  gen- 
eral conception  of  existence.  Existence,  as  conditioned 
mainly  in  space,  i.  e.,  by  the  effect  of  one  thing  standing 
side  by  side  with  another,  gives  us  our  impression  of  mat- 
ter. Existence,  as  conditioned  mainly  in  time,  i.  e.,  by  the 
effect  of  one  thing  following  another,  gives  us  our  impres- 
sion of  movement ;  and,  as  conditioned  by  combined  effects 
in  both  space  and  time,  i.  e.,  by  combined  eifects  both  of 
matter  and  of  movement,  existence  gives  us  our  impression 
of  force,  i.  e.,  of  one  thing  working  upon  another,  as  the 
movement  of  the  wind  in  matter  affects  our  cheeks  which 
resist  it,  or  the  clouds  which  are  carried  along  by  it.  Force, — 
which  itself,  as  must  be  borne  in  mind,  is  a  manifestation 
of  existence  conditioned  upon  both  -matter  and  movement 
and  in  both  space  and  time, — force,  when  it  is  manifested 
mainly  in  matter,  gives  us  our  impression  of  arrangement, 


SIGNIFICANCE:    SPACE  AND    TIME.  7 

like  that  of  the  clouds  which  the  winds  blow  together  or 
separate;  and,  when  it  is  manifested  mainly  in  movement,  it 
gives  us  our  impression  of  operation,  like  that  of  the  wind 
when  fanning  our  cheeks  or  when  blowing  us  down. 
Once  more,  when  conditioned  both  in  space  by  matter  and 
arrangement  and  also  in  time  by  movement  and  operation, 
force  gives  us  our  impression  of  the  method  of  operation. 

This  latter  impression  is  very  important,  for  it  has  to 
do  with  suggesting  not  only  the  method  of  operation,  but, 
as  will  be  shown  presently,  with  suggesting  almost  every 
other  advanced  phase  of  significance.  But  before  the  im- 
portance of  this  impression  can  be  recognized,  its  derivation 
needs  to  be  clearly  perceived.  Of  course,  all  that  we  can 
learn  about  methods  of  operation  we  must  derive  from  ap- 
pearances ;  and  these  can  be  observed  only  in  space  or  in 
time  or  in  both  together.  Can  we  gain  a  knowledge  of  a 
method  of  operation  by  observing  an  object  as  manifested  in 
space  alone  or  in  time  alone  ?  It  is  not  necessary,  except  for 
its  bearings  upon  what  is  to  follow,  to  argue  that  we  cannot. 
If  we  could,  the  rocks  could  teach  any  one  who  merely 
looked  at  them  the  principles  of  geology  ;  and  moon  and 
stars  while  standing  still,  "  like  Joshua's  moon  at  Ajalon," 
could  manifest  the  laws  of  astronomy.  But  such  is  not 
the  case.  To  the  study  of  rocks  and  stars,  as  they  appear 
in  space,  must  be  joined  the  conception  of  the  influence  of 
time  upon  them.  This  conception  alone  can  cause  the 
scientist  to  break  apart  the  rocks  in  order  to  detect  their 
evidences  of  development,  or  to  adjust  his  telescope  to 
the  stars  in  order  to  make  out  their  variations  of  move- 
ment. Or  again,  take  an  object  that  assumes  different 
appearances  in  successive  intervals  of  time — could  this 
fact  even  as  a  fact  be  recognized  unless  at  more  than 
one  time  men  had  observed  the  material  arrangements  of 


8  REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

the  parts  of  the  object  as  it  appeared  in  space  ?  And  how 
is  it  about  recognizing  the  method  of  the  change,  the  con- 
nection between  one  phase  of  appearance  and  another? 
Take,  for  instance,  two  trees,  the  one  an  "  inside-grower  " 
and  the  other  an  "  outside-grower."  How  do  men  detect 
the  different  methods  of  operation  distinguishing  these? 
Simply  through  a  superficial  look  at  the  trees,  and  notic- 
ing the  mere  fact  that  changes  occur  in  different  years 
and  seasons  ?  Or  how  do  they  become  acquainted  with  the 
methods  of  operation  among  the  fluids?  Simply  through 
noticing  superficially  that  different  phases — snow,  rain,  icer 
vapor — appear  at  different  intervals  of  time?  Evidently 
not.  To  learn  that  for  which  they  are  in  search,  men  cut 
into  the  trunks  of  the  trees  and  analyze  the  fluids.  In 
other  words,  they  examine  both  as  they  appear  in  space. 

If  this  be  true,  i.e.,  that  methods  of  operation  can  be 
understood  in  natural  objects  so  far  only  as  one  regards 
them  as  affected  in  both  space  and  time,  it  must  be  true,  in 
addition, — a  fact  which,  as  we  shall  find  by-and-by,  has  an 
important  bearing  upon  art-methods, — that  every  object 
can  be  thus  regarded.  Otherwise  there  might  be  forms  in 
nature  through  which  it  would  be  impossible  for  operations 
to  be  manifested.  In  order  to  show  that  all  things  can  be 
thus  regarded,  two  examples  only  need  be  instanced. 

A  rock  is  recognized  in  space.  We  never  see  it  move 
itself,  nor  any  movements  in  it.  And  yet  the  method  of  the 
operation  of  life  upon  it  can  be  ascertained  alone  when 
one  has  recognized  the  fact  that  it  has  reached  its  present 
state  while  passing  through  successive  changes. 

From  time,  one  needs  to  instance  no  example  more 
extreme  than  that  of  a  musical  tone.  What  space  can  it 
be  said  to  occupy?  And  yet,  as  long  ago  as  when 
Pythagoras  lived,  men  knew  that  no  one  can  begin  to 


SIGNIFICANCE:     SPACE  AND    TIME.  9 

comprehend  the  operations  of  a  tone  until,  in  connection 
with  it,  certain  effects  in  space  have  been  considered  ;  that 
not  until  the  relative  contractions  of  the  spaces  through 
which  different  quantities  of  wind  must  pass,  not  until  the 
relative  proportions  of  different  cords  made  to  vibrate 
together,  have  been  investigated,  can  there  be  any  trust- 
worthy theories  concerning  melody  and  harmony. 

Accordingly,  all  forms  in  nature  may  be  said  to  sustain 
relations  both  to  space  and  to  time,  the  medium  through 
which  they  appear  to  us  depending  not  upon  their  naturer 
but  upon  our  point  of  view.  If  we  regard  a  plant  without 
any  consideration  of  influences  exerted  upon  it  before  the 
time  when  we  notice  it,  it  appears  related  only  to  space.  But 
in  the  degree  in  which  we  conceive  of  it  as  a  product  of 
growth,  it  appears  related  to  time.  When,  therefore, 
methods  of  operation  are  declared  to  be  discoverable  so  far 
alone  as  one  regards  effects  as  they  appear  in  space  and  in 
time  conjointly,  no-  criterion  is  given  not  susceptible  of 
being  applied  to  all  appearances  of  nature  whatsoever. 

We  pass  on  now  to  the  remaining  suggestions  indicated 
on  page  6.  The  first  of  these  is  the  suggestion  of  organ- 
ism. An  organism  is  an  arrangement  of  matter  resulting 
in  a  body,  the  parts  of  which  form  organs,  i.  e.,  are  mu- 
tually operative  upon  one  another.  An  organism  there- 
fore involves  an  operation  according  to  a  particular  method, 
therefore  a  method  of  operation,  in  which  the  suggestive 
element  appears  mainly  in  space.  It  is  because  there  is 
nothing  in  the  arrangement  or  body  of  the  rock  suggesting 
interaction  between  one  part  of  it  and  another  that  we  say 
that  it  is  inorganic,  and  it  is  because  of  the  slight  evidences 
of  such  an  arrangement  in  the  plants  and  lower  animals, 
as  contrasted  with  the  higher  animals,  that  we  term  the 
latter  highly  organic. 


10        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

.Again,  as  indicated  on  page  6,  the  method  of  operation, 
as  affected  mainly  in  time,  gives  us  the  suggestion  of  life. 
This  is  a  particular  method  of  movement  or  operation  which 
takes  place  in  connection  with  organism  or  a  body.  But 
life  is  mainly  suggested  by  an  appearance  in  time.  If  we 
see  something  strike  the  ground  and  stay  where  it  falls, 
we  are  likely  to  consider  it  lifeless, — a  feather,  chip,  or 
stone,  as  the  case  may  be.  But  if  shortly  it  begin  to 
move,  we  usually  change  our  opinion,  because  few  things 
move  in  this  way  that  fail  to  manifest  the  method  of  opera- 
tion characterizing  life.  Moreover,  our  impression  of  this 
latter  is  frequently  increased  in  the  exact  degree  of  the 
shortness  of  the  time  in  which  different  movements  are 
manifested.  We  are  more  apt  to  infer  the  presence  of  life 
from  the  rapid  changes  taking  place  among  the  leaves  of 
a  tree  in  springtime,  than  from  noticing  the  slow  develop- 
ment of  its  trunk;  and  from  the  movements  of  the  animal 
which  are  physically  perceptible,  than  from  those  of  veg- 
etable growth  which  are  not  so.  And  among  the  animals, 
too,  other  things  being  equal,  we  generally  attribute  the 
greatest  degree  of  life  to  those  whose  movements  are  the 
most  rapid, — to  the  bird  or  hound,  for  instance,  rather 
than  to  the  snail  or  sponge. 

In  Chapters  XXII.  to  XXIV.  will  be  found  indicated 
the  bearings  of  these  natural  methods  of  suggesting  effects 
of  organism  and  life  upon  the  methods  of  producing  effects 
of  organic  form  and  animation  in  art.  At  present  we  pass 
on  to  the  last  suggestion  indicated  on  page  6.  It  is  that  of 
import.  This  term  has  been  chosen  because  it  seems  to 
include,  equally  well  with  significance,  both  the  apprehen- 
sion of  a  general  emotive  tendency  and  a  comprehension 
of  a  particular  intellectual  tendency.  At  the  same  time,  it 
is  a  term  indicating  greater  defmiteness  of  meaning  and 


SIGNIFICANCE.  II 

• — as  the  word  itself  indicates — greater  importance  of 
meaning  than  significance  ;  and  it  cannot  be  applied  quite 
as  appropriately  as  the  latter  to  the  elementary  suggestions 
such  as  we  have  in  the  more  abstract  ideas  of  space,  time, 
matter,  or  movement.  Now  it  is  the  method  of  operation, 
as  affected  both  by  organism  and  life, — both  in  space 
through  matter  and  arrangement,  and  in  time  through 
movement  and  operation, — that  mainly  furnishes  the  con- 
ditions causing  appearances  in  the  world  to  be  suggestive 
of  depth  and  breadth  of  import.  Without  life,  organism 
alone,  as  in  the  dead  or  petrified  animal  or  plant,  has  slight 
significance.  The  same  is  true  of  life  alone,  connected 
with  little  or  no  organism,  as  in  the  sponge,  jelly-fish, 
or  fungus.  Only  in  the  degree  in  which  organism  reveals 
life,  or  life  is  revealed  through  organism,  do  the  forms  of 
nature  appeal  in  the  most  rational  and  profound  way  pos- 
sible to  intellect  and  sympathy,  to  mind  and  soul.  This 
fact,  with  its  bearings,  will  be  brought  out  in  the  chapters 
following. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HIGHER   SIGNIFICANCE  AS   ATTRIBUTABLE   TO   THE   ELE- 
MENTS OF  NATURAL  FORM  IN  SPACE  AND  TIME  :  THE 
INFINITE,  THE  ETERNAL,  AND  THE  ABSOLUTE. 

An  Appearance  or  Form  may  be  Connected  with  all  Space  or  all  Time — 
The  Apprehension  of  a  Method  of  Operation  in  a  Small  Form  may 
Involve  some  Apprehension  of  that  in  the  Whole  Universe — Do 
Forms  in  Nature  Reveal  Anything  of  the  Infinite,  the  Eternal,  and 
the  Absolute? — Testimony  of  Art  and  Philosophy — Of  Religion — 
These  Inferences  Drawn  from  the  Forms  of  Nature,  yet  not  as  they 
Appear  in  Space  alone — Nor  in  Time  alone — But  in  both — How 
they  Suggest  the  Infinite — The  Eternal — The  Absolute — Suggestions 
of  the  Absolute  not  Inconsistent  with  those  of  the  Infinite  and  the 
Eternal — Unity  in  Mode  and  Diversity  in  Operation — Illustrated  by 
a  Spiral — Appearances  of  Nature  as  Suggesting  a  Divine  Living 
Intelligence — Men  and  Animals  Express  Intelligent  Life  through 
Material  Appearances  in  Space  and  in  Time  Combined,  or  by  Methods, 
of  Operation — Arguing  from  Analogy  to  Modes  of  Expression  of 
Divine  Intelligence — Human  Expressions  of  Feeling — Divine  Ex- 
pressions of  the  Same — Human  Expressions  of  Character — Divine — 
Application  of  the  Subject  to  Art. 

H  EN  we  speak  of  the  forms  or  appearances  of  nature, 
as  in  the  preceding  chapter,  we  are  using  terms 
that  are  necessarily  indefinite  in  meaning.  Nothing  ex- 
cept our  own  choice  or  ability  need  limit  the  extent  in 
time  or  in  space  of  that  which  we  designate  by  them.  A 
man  may  look  at  a  drop  of  dew.  It  alone  is  an  appear- 
ance. But  while  he  looks  at  it,  he  may  look  also  at  the 
rose  on  which  it  rests,  or  enlarge  his  field  of  vision  till 

12 


HIGHER   SIGNIFICANCE.  13 

it  embrace  the  bush,  the  ground,  the  ledge  beneath  it, 
and,  possibly,  the  whole  scope  of  the  horizon.  But  all 
this,  in  spite  of  many  appearances,  may  still,  in  a  sense, 
be  considered  an  appearance ;  and  if  one  could  stretch 
his  comprehension  far  enough,  he  might  extend  the  out- 
lines to  embrace  the  world,  its  planetary  system,  and  the 
universe  ;  and  these  as  developed,  too,  not  only  in  one 
moment  of  time,  but  through  all  time.  In  fact,  though 
our  own  choice,  or  the  limitations  of  our  physical  or 
mental  powers,  in  view  of  certain  arrangements  of  out- 
line, color,  or  tone,  may  cause  an  object  to  seem  sep- 
arate from  others,  there  is  a  sense  in  which  it  may  be  said 
that  no  actual  separation,  isolation,  self-sufficiency,  exists 
in  nature.  Every  smallest  object  is  a  partner  of  all 
space  and  a  product  of  all  time.  What  is  the  little  rose- 
bud, which  one  plucks  upon  the  meadow,  but  the.  blos- 
soming of  material  forces  which  have  been  at  work  on 
every  side  of  it  since  the  first  day  of  creation  ? 

But  if  this  be  so,  if  every  appearance  in  nature,  how- 
ever small  or  large  our  choice  or  circumstance  may  make 
it,  be  a  portion  of  all  the  universe,  it  follows  that  the 
apprehension  of  the  method  of  operation  in  this  single 
portion  must  involve  some  apprehension  of  the  method 
of  operation  in  the  whole.  Each  thing  is  an  effect,  and 
when  thought  searches  for  the  cause  of  this  effect,  it  jour- 
neys sideward  toward  infinity  in  space  and  backward 
toward  eternity  in  time. 

This  fact  suggests  the  inquiry,  how  much  nature,  fully 
interrogated,  has  the  p  vver  to  teach  us.  Must  we  stop 
at  limits  of  the  finite,  the  transient,  the  concrete,  or  can 
our  investigation  pass  beyond  these  to  that  which  is  not 
finite,  but  infinite  ;  not  transient,  but  eternal ;  not  con- 
crete, but  absolute  ?  This  is  asked,  of  course,  because 


14        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

of  the  necessary  correspondence  that  must  exist  between 
conceptions  like  these,  as  represented  through  the  forms 
of  nature  and  as  represented  through  the  forms  of  art. 

It  is  a  simple  fact  of  history  that  men  of  every  age 
have  drawn  from  nature  inferences  that  warrant  an  af- 
firmative reply  to  our  inquiry.  There  is  no  need  here 
of  recalling  the  myths,  theories,  and  various  imaginings 
that  prove  this  to  be  true  of  the  poet  and  the  artist. 
But  it  is  equally  true  of  the  philosopher  and  the  scientist. 
Notice  a  confirmation  of  this  from  a  source  which,  on 
first  consideration,  might  be  thought  to  controvert  it, 
viz.,  the  writings  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer,  the  representa- 
tive of  the  philosophy  of  the  Unknowable,  the  philos- 
ophy which,  as  some  think,  accepts  the  revelations  of  the 
supernatural  at  their  minimum.  While  he  argues,  on 
the  one  hand,  that  a  natural  theology  can  give  man  no 
authority  either  to  affirm  or  to  deny  the  attributes  of 
the  Creator,  not  even  such  as  intelligence  and  will,  on  the 
ground  that  ("First  Principles,"  p.  109)  "  the  ultimate 
cause  cannot,  in  any  respect,  be  conceived  by  us,  because 
it  is  in  every  respect  greater  than  can  be  conceived,'* 
he  nevertheless  admits,  on  the  other  hand  (p.  397),  that 
"  community  of  result  implies  community  of  cause.  It 
may  be  that  of  such  cause  no  account  can  be  given  fur- 
ther than  that  the  Unknowable  is  manifested  to  us  after 
this  mode" ;  and  again,  on  page  122,  that  "  we  must  recog- 
nize .  .  .  elements  in  that  great  evolution  of  which  the 
beginning  and  end  are  beyond  our  knowledge  or  concep- 
tion, as  modes  of  manifestation  of  the  Unknowable." 

Thus,  both  the  artist  and  the  philosopher  bear  testi- 
mony to  the  essential  rationality  of  the  claim,  universal 
among  religionists,  that  the  outward  appearances  of  na- 
ture are,  in  some  sense,  symbols  suggestive  of  that  behind 


HIGHER   SIGNIFICANCE.  15 

them,  which  is  greater  and  grander  than  they.  Religion- 
ists, of  course,  carry  their  conceptions  farther  than  the 
others,  but  only  develop  the  same  principle.  When  they 
say  that  nature  gives  expression  to  the  attributes  of 
a  Divine  Life,  creating  and  controlling  it,  they  do  not 
claim  that  these  attributes  can  be  perceived  in  them- 
selves, but  merely  that  they  can  be  inferred  from  what 
is  perceived.  In  fact,  the  spirit  or  character  of  the  Divine 
Life,  as  a  whole,  is  supposed  to  be  recognized,  like  the 
spirit  or  character  of  the  human  life  about  us,  not  in  its 
essence,  but  in  its  effects,  "  the  invisible  things  .  .  .  being 
understood  by  the  things  that  are  made  "  (Rom.  i.,  20). 

It  is  from  the  appearances  -of  nature,  therefore,  that 
art,  philosophy,  and  natural  theology  equally  derive  their 
conceptions  of  that  which  transcends  the  finite  by  being 
infinite,  the  transient  by  being  eternal,  and  the  concrete 
by  being  absolute.  Now  from  what  in  these  natural 
appearances  are  these  conceptions  derived?  The  appear- 
ances themselves,  as  we  have  found,  must  be  perceived 
in  space,  or  in  time,  or  in  both.  Are  the  conceptions 
derived  from  that  which  is  perceived  in  space,  and  in  this 
alone?  How  could  they  be?  Objects  that  appear  in 
space  are  rendered  distinct  to  consciousness  by  means 
of  outlines  that  limit  their  extent.  How  then  could  they, 
"of  themselves,  convey  an  impression  of  the  infinite,  i.  e.,  of 
space  without  limits? — or  of  the  eternal,  /.  e.,  of  time 
without  limits? — or  of  the  absolute,  i.e.,  of  totality  with- 
out limits  except  so  far  as  they  circumscribe  all  things? 

It  is  evident  that  if  we  were  confined  to  appearances  in 
space  merely,  little  could  be  suggested  save  the  finite, 
the  transient,  and  the  concrete.  Of  course,  it  may  be 
answered  superficially  that  the  grander  notions  are  sug- 
gested by  way  of  contrast.  Yes,  but  what  suggests  the 


1 6        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

possibility  of  contrast?  That  is  the  question  here.  If 
the  inferior  conceptions  be  suggested  positively,  we 
should  strive,  at  least,  to  find  a  positive  suggestion  of 
the  greater. 

The  same  is  true  with  reference  to  appearances  in  time. 
These  are  rendered  distinct  to  consciousness  through  their 
different  changes  or  phases  as  assumed  in  successive  min- 
utes, hours,  or  days.  But  can  appearances  in  their  very 
nature  temporal,  constantly  changing,  convey  in  them- 
selves alone  any  impression  of  the  eternal,  i.  e.,  of  the 
immutable,  of  time  without  intervals  or  change? — or  of 
the  infinite,  i.e.,  of  form  without  limits? — or  can  the  vari- 
ous phases  thus  assumed  in  any  sense  represent  the 
absolute,  i.e.,  totality  as  distinguished  from  the  partial 
or  the  concrete  ?  Manifestly  not. 

As  the  conceptions  of  which  we  are  speaking  cannot  be 
derived  from  effects  in  space  alone  nor  in  time  alone,  we 
are  forced  by  the  conditions  mentioned  on  page  7  to 
try  to  derive  them  from  effects  in  both  space  and  time 
combined.  These  effects,  as  shown  on  page  7,  manifest 
the  method  of  operation.  Does  the  method  of  operation, 
then,  suggest  the  infinite,  the  eternal,  and  the  absolute  ? 

First,  does  it  suggest  the  infinite  ?  This  means  the  lim- 
itless, and,  as  such,  it  is  apparent  that  it  must  be  sug- 
gested in  connection  of  some  kind  with  effects  in  space ; 
and  yet  it  cannot  be  suggested  by  the  limits  that  sur- 
round forms  as  they  appear  in  space  alone,  for  such  forms 
are  necessarily  limited.  Is  it  not  when,  in  connection 
with  effects  in  space,  one  thinks  of  those  in  time, — how 
during  every  day  and  month  and  year  each  stream  and 
leaf  and  rock  is  changing,  and  that,  therefore,  at  no 
separate  time  or  place  can  one  affirm  of  anything  in 
nature,  this  or  that  is  really  the  limit  of  its  size  or  its 


•- 

UNIVERSITY 


THE  INFINITE   AND    THE   E 

influence, — is  it  not  then  that  the  suggestion  of  the 
infinite  emerges  ?  To  the  eye  regarding  an  object  as 
it  appears  in  space  alone  it  is  finite  ;  but  ideally,  to  the 
mind,  recalling  methods  of  operation,  how  each  object 
changes  constantly  in  time,  and  how  all  objects  inter- 
act, the  impression  of  infinity,  i.  e.t  of  a  negation  of  all 
finiteness,  or  definiteness  in  form,  is  as  derivable  from  a 
rock  matured  through  ages  as  from  a  cloud  that  is  being 
rent  by  a  hurricane.  Suppose  that  our  perceptions  of  the 
universe  compel  us  to  conceive  of  it  as  having  limits, 
our  impressions,  nevertheless,  of  changes  wrought  in  time 
suggest  to  us  how  matter,  now  condensed  in  order  to 
form  worlds  and  systems  of  worlds,  may  be  dispersed 
through  space  with  shapes  and  sizes  infinite  ;  and  thus, 
although  the  infinite  be  utterly  beyond  our  comprehen- 
sion, we  are  forced  to  an  apprehension  of  it,  since  it  is 
as  equally  beyond  our  comprehension  to  conceive  of  a 
universe  that  is  finite. 

Let  us  find  now,  if  we  can,  the  source  of  our  conception 
of  the  eternal.  This  must  evidently  be  suggested  in  con-, 
nection  of  some  kind  with  effects  in  time.  But  notice 
that,  in  connection  with  these  effects,  the  conception  in- 
evitably necessitates  regard  for  those  in  space  also.  Here 
is  a  tree.  As  it  appears  in  time  there  may  be  nothing  to  hint 
of  immutability  or  eternity  ;  but  when  we  add  considera- 
tions of  effects  in  space,  when  we  notice  how  each  change 
is  wrought  upon  the  selfsame  object,  and,  with  this  in 
view,  regard  the  progress  of  the  tree,  what  follows  ? 
Starting  from  the  seed,  we  see  it  pass  through  sprout, 
limb,  leaf,  flower,  and  fruit,  until  a  new  seed  is  devel- 
oped looking  precisely  like  the  first  one.  Together  with 
this  seed  are  many  others  just  like  it.  There  has  been, 
therefore,  an  increase  in  the  number  of  products.  But 


1 8        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

there  has  been  no  change  in  the  character  of  each  prod- 
uct. The  tree's  development,  despite  the  different  phases 
that  it  may  assume,  is  discovered  in  the  end  to  be,  so  far 
as  concerns  the  character  of  results,  merely  a  return  to  a 
preceding  starting-point.  And  thus,  although  the  actual 
appearance  of  a  tree  is  always  changing,  the  tree  con- 
ceived of  by  the  mind  does  not  change.  It  is  simply  the 
completed  cycle  of  these  different  appearances  that  pre- 
sent themselves  in  the  same  order  wherever  the  same 
kind  of  tree  is  found.  A  like  impression  is  conveyed  by 
everything  in  nature.  Rain  may  be  traced  through 
springs,  streams,  oceans,  vapors,  clouds,  back  to  rain 
again.  And  thus,  though  constant  changes  in  the  ap- 
pearances in  space  indicate  the  mutable  alone,  there  is 
something  in  the  conception,  whether  of  a  tree,  vapor, 
animal,  man,  nation,  world,  or  universe,  which  is  suggest- 
ive of  immutability.  At  different  recurring  intervals  of 
time  all  these  objects  repeat,  each  in  its  own  sphere,  the 
selfsame  operations.  These  operations,  therefore,  seem 
eternal.  And  it  is  because  they  seem  so  that  so  many 
philosophers  have  agreed  in  the  distinction  made  between 
phenomena  and  substance.  In  other  words,  they  have 
come  to  consider  all  things  in  nature,  even  when  their 
phases  change  too  slowly  to  be  apprehensible,  as  the 
manifestations  of  a  substance  underlying  them,  which 
substance  abides  the  same  through  all  successive  intervals 
of  time,  and  hence,  so  far  as  man  can  comprehend  the 
term,  is  unchangeable  and  thus  eternal.  Whether  philos- 
ophers are  warranted  in  this  conclusion  with  reference  to 
substance  is  a  question  for  them  to  decide.  For  the  pur- 
poses of  aesthetics  it  is  enough  to  know  that  the  conclu- 
sion would  not  be  drawn  at  all  unless  it  were  suggested 
by  what  is  known  of  methods  of  operation. 


THE   ABSOLUTE.  19 

Now  let  us  consider  the  source  of  the  suggestions 
of  the  absolute.  It  has  been  shown  that  every  object  in 
the  universe  bears  some  relation  to  the  whole  universe, 
and,  by  consequence,  that  the  operation  in  each  object  is 
connected  with  the  operation  in  the  whole.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  it  is  in  this  fact  that  we  must  find  that  which 
suggests  the  conception  for  which  we  are  now  in  search. 

Portions  of  the  space,  for  example,  which  a  plant 
occupies  develop  under  the  effects  of  time,  in  a  process 
which  we  term  growth.  Certain  characteristics  of  the 
mode  of  growth  in  a  plant  are  these  :  The  germ  begins 
by  being  small,  weak,  and  simple  in  its  structure.  It  de- 
velops to  be  large,  strong,  and  complex.  Now  if  we 
notice  the  phenomena  of  growth  in  any  relation,  even  in 
the  results  of  a  man's  intellectual  or  spiritual  life,  we  find 
a  similar  order  of  development.  The  same  is  true  with 
reference  to  the  unfoldings  of  the  life  in  masses  of  men, 
i.  e.,  in  nations  and  races.  In  other  words,  the  methods 
according  to  which  inanimate  things,  brutes,  men,  and 
families  of  men  develop,  all  correspond.  Thus  their  many 
different  forms  and  phases  suggest  the  idea  of  unity  in  spite 
of  multiplicity  ;  of  something  which  is  absolute  in  method, 
in  spite  of  limitless  differences  in  concrete  appearance. 

The  student  of  philosophy  is  sometimes  reminded  of 
the  futility  of  all  attempts  to  reconcile  the  conception 
of  the  absolute,  i.  e.,  of  a  totality  with  limits,  with  a  con- 
ception of  the  infinite  and  the  eternal,  i.  e.,  of  space  and 
time  without  limits.  But  the  principle  here  adopted, 
of  referring  all  suggestions  of  such  conceptions  to  the 
method  of  operation,  will  enable  us  to  perceive  a  sense  in 
which  it  is  inevitable  that  both  conceptions  should  coexist. 
On  the  one  hand,  looking  mainly  at  the  method  according 
to  which  operations  take  place,  our  minds  are  carried  to  the 


20        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

absolute.  And  this  is  so,  no  matter  how  minute  or  how 
extensive  may  be  the  effects  through  which  we  note  the 
method's  influence.  The  life  of  an  insect,  lasting  but  a 
day,  or  that  of  a  bird  or  a  man,  the  unfolding  of  a  tree's 
bud  or  of  a  world,  all  equally  evince. a  unity  of  method 
which  we  attribute  to  the  absolute.  But  when,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  notice  mainly  the  operations  as  they  influence 
the  forms,  it  is  next  to  impossible  for  us  to  conceive 
of  any  limits  to  the  intervals  or  to  the  shapes,  to  the 
times  or  to  the  places  in  which  these  forms  may  be 
developed. 

All  methods  of  operation  in  the  universe  may  be 
resolved  into  one,  but  the  evolution  of  new  forms  accord- 
ing to  this  method  is  unceasing.  The  absolute  is  a 
method  with  limits ;  but  it  is  a  method  of  operation,  not 
of  any  force  that  ends  in  time  or  in  space  ;  and,  by  con- 
sequence, the  operation  has  no  limits.  The  motive 
power  of  the  universe  may  thus  be  conceived  to  be  an  ab- 
solute unity,  so  far  as  concerns  itself  alone ;  but  this  con- 
ception may  coexist  with  the  idea  that  it  is  possessed  of 
eternal  possibilities  of  operation,  unfolding  into  forms  of 
infinite  variety. 

To  use  an  old  illustration,  were  we  to  take  a  point  and 
represent  a  method  of  operation  by  a  spiral  line  described 
about  this, — a  spiral  because  in  nature,  although  the 
method  remains  the  same,  the  extent  of  its  applicability 
to  the  number  of  specimens, — trees,  men,  whatever  they 
may  be, — is  increasing  with  every  generation, — were  we  to 
represent  a  method  of  operation  by  a  spiral  line,  it  is 
evident  that  this  might  extend  indefinitely,  yet  at  the 
remotest  distance  the  law  according  to  which  it  could  be 
described  would  remain  the  same.  This  is  to  say  that  the 
method  of  operation  indicated  in  the  line  would  be 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN  NATURAL    THEOLOGY.  21 

absolute,  although  the  line  itself  might  be  so  far  extended 
that  the  computation  of  its  distance  from  the  point  of 
departure  would  necessitate  considerations  of  infinity  and 
eternity.  Accordingly  when  we  refer  suggestions  of  the 
infinite,  the  eternal,  and  the  absolute,  to  the  methods  of 
operation  evinced  in  nature,  we  notice  that  the  three,  so 
far  as  apprehensible  at  all,  are  apprehensible  as  co- 
existing. 

Let  us  turn  now  to  the  claims  of  natural  theology.  In 
addition  to  the  infinite,  the  eternal,  and  the  absolute,  as 
mere  abstract  conceptions,  the  advocates  of  this  consider 
these  as  attributes  of  a  Divine  Life,  independent  and 
intelligent,  which  is  everywhere  manifested  and  repre- 
sented through  the  appearances  of  nature.  These 
advocates  may  not  be  right  in  their  conclusions ; 
nevertheless  the  conclusions  are  made  and  believed 
to  be  warranted ;  and  our  present  search  constrains 
us  to  discover  what  there  is  in  nature  which  suggests 
them.  Why  is  it  that  from  the  days  of  fetishism  to  the 
present,  certain  men  have  drawn  from  nature  the  infer- 
ences thus  indicated  ?  What  is  there  in  the  appearances 
of  nature  to  indicate  a  connection  between  them  and  the 
expressions  of  intelligent  life? 

To  find  this,  we  must  consider,  in  the  first  place,  how  it 
is  that  men  discover  anything  about  the  expressions  of 
intelligent  life.  Evidently  this  is  learned  from  its  ex- 
pressions as  manifested  in  the  only  being  of  intelligence 
with  whom  men  are  acquainted.  This  is  the  human  being. 
But  in  what  can  his  expressions  resemble  the  appearances 
of  nature  ?  Of  course,  in  the  figures  always  used  in  lan- 
guage, and  always  implying  resemblance  to  nature.  The 
resemblance,  however,  is  seldom  in  the  appearances — say 
of  trees  or  clouds — as  these  are  perceived  in  space  or  in 


22         REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

time  alone.  But  if  not  in  these  as  perceived  thus — to 
continue  the  mode  of  argument  that  has  been  pursued 
hitherto — the  resemblance  must  be  suggested  by  appear- 
ances in  space  and  time  combined  ;  in  other  words,  by 
methods  of  operation.  Is  this  so  ?  and,  as  a  preliminary 
question,  is  it  the  nature  of  intelligent  life  in  man  to  ex- 
press itself  in  methods  of  operation  ?  Instead  of  doubting 
this,  the  moment  that  we  think  of  it  we  are  compelled  to 
ask,  can  he  express  himself  in  any  other  way  ?  What  is  the 
experience  in  consciousness  to  which  he  seeks  to  give  ex- 
pression? Often  something  existing  in  thought  only,  and 
wholly  immaterial ;  or,  again,  something  in  physical  sensa- 
tion, wholly  unlike  that  which  must  give  expression  to  it. 
Recall  through  what  long  methods  even  animals  give  vent 
to  feelings  such  as  hunger,  for  example.  And  when  we 
ascend  in  the  scale  of  intelligence  and  come  to  man, 
there  is  no  computing  through  what  endless  references  to 
methods  in  nature  he  illustrates  in  language  the  beginning, 
continuation,  and  end  of  impressions  which  an  instanta- 
neous ray  of  light,  perhaps,  has  sufficed  to  photograph 
upon  his  soul.  Nay,  let  him  use  a  single  word  alone, 
as,  for  instance,  the  term  express  or  impress.  Can  any- 
thing be,  literally,  pressed  out  of  or  into  the  soul  ?  In 
the  world  of  matter,  among  things  tangible  and  visible, 
such  operations  indicate  extent  of  space  and  passage  of 
time.  But  is  it  sure  that  either  is  essential  to  the  soul  or 
its  sensations  ?  Certainly,  one  does  not  ordinarily  con- 
ceive of  it  as  subject  to  conditions  such  as  these. 

From  a  recognition  of  the  way  in  which  the  human 
mind  is  accustomed  to  express  invisible  and  inaudible  pro- 
cesses through  a  use  of  words  referring  to  operations  per- 
ceived in  material  nature,  the  transition  is  simple  to  an 
inference  with  reference  to  the  way  in  which  the  Divine 


SIGNIFICANCE  IN  NATURAL    THEOLOGY.  2$ 

Mind  should  do  the  same  through  these  operations  them- 
selves. How  could  a  man  use  these,  as  he  does,  for  expres- 
sion unless  they  were  representative  of  thought ;  and  how 
could  they  be  this  unless  originally  designed  to  be  so? 
If  again  we  turn  from  a  man's  ordinary  to  his  excited 
moods,  those  of  love  or  of  hatred,  in  which  vitality  is  most 
intense,  we  shall  notice  that  this  same  employment  of  the 
details  of  lengthened  operations  to  impart  the  knowledge 
of  a  single  feeling,  is  continued  through  long  sentences. 
The  passion  to  be  expressed,  like  that  of  love  or  of  rage,  is 
sometimes  awakened  by  a  single  word  or  look,  sometimes 
perfected  in  a  single  second  ;  yet  the  material  forms  which 
are  employed  to  represent  its  spiritual  oneness  are  prac- 
tically without  limit  in  reach  and  range.  What  extended 
tales,  what  endless  repetitions  of  comparisons  and  analo- 
gies from  nature  and  from  human  life  are  made  to  revolve 
around  that  which  in  itself  is  a  mere  point  in  existence ! 

And  if  a  man  can  refer  to  that  which  is  taking  place  in 
hills,  valleys,  streams,  oceans,  clouds,  and  flowers,  in 
order  to  illustrate  the  hidden  working  of  his  hidden 
spirit,  why  should  not  a  Greater  than  he  do  the  same  by 
creating  and  controlling  them  ?  This  is  the  meaning  of 
the  natural  world  as  suggested  to  the  natural  theologist, 
and  that  which  suggests  it  is  invariably  the  method  of 
operation. 

Once  more,  turning  from  expressions  of  a  single  mood 
to  words  and  deeds  expressive  of  the  whole  scope  of  one's 
nature,  of  what  men  term  character,  who  doubts  that  this, 
the  kind  or  quality  of  life,  is  represented  outwardly  by 
the  methods  of  its  operations?  When  a  campaign  is  said 
to  be  Napoleonic,  or  a  poem  Miltonic,  no  reference  is 
made  to  mere  appearances,  to  outward  acts  or  words, 
aside  from  processes.  It  is  not  meant  that  one  campaign 


24         REPRESENTA  TIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

or  poem  is  an  external,  literal  reproduction  of  another,  but 
rather  that  the  successive  deeds  of  a  campaign  have  been 
conducted,  that  the  successive  terms  of  an  expression 
have  been  introduced,  according  to  the  methods  of  Na- 
poleon or  of  Milton.  And  because  they  seem  according 
to  the  methods  of  the  man  indicated,  critics  term  them 
characteristic  of  him. 

Now  if  it  be  a  fact  that  methods  of  operation  indicate 
the  character  of  human  beings,  and  that  similar  methods 
can  be  discerned  in  all  their  works,  why  should  it  not  be 
true  as  well  of  the  Creative  Source  of  life?  A  man  may 
grow  in  wisdom  or  may  meet  with  opposition,  and  he  may 
change  his  methods  to  accommodate  them  to  his  change 
of  circumstances.  But  men  argue  that  such  conditions 
are  not  possible  to  any  power  that  is  infinite,  eternal,, 
and  absolute ;  that  supreme  wisdom,  omnipotence,  and 
benevolence  must  adhere  at  all  times  to  some  single 
method  which  is  the  wisest  and  the  most  efficient.  There- 
fore, when,  in  spite  of  the  variety  and  change  apparent  in 
the  works  of  nature,  all  are  found  developing  according 
to  the  operations  of  a  similar  method,  what  is  more  nat- 
ural or  logical  than  to  infer  that  this  method  represents 
the  character  of  that  life  which  is  the  Source  of  all  results 
in  nature?  Accordingly,  when  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  says 
that  community  of  result  implies  community  of  cause, 
and  that  "  it  may  be  that  of  such  cause  no  account  can  be 
given  further  than  that  the  Unknowable  is  manifested  to 
us  after  this  mode,"  he  affirms  something  that,  inasmuch 
as  mode  is  a  manifestation  of  character,  renders  that  of 
which  he  is  speaking  a  good  deal  more  than,  in  every 
sense  of  the  term,  Unknowable.  And  that  it  is  more 
than  this,  if  we  have  a  right  to  judge  by  works  rather 
than  by  words,  seems  to  be  believed  at  heart  by  every 


HIGHER   SIGNIFICANCE.  2$ 

scientist,  philosopher,  or  artist  who  deals  extensively  with 
the  manifestations  of  nature.  He  may  have  very  vague 
conceptions  of  many  of  the  attributes  of  that  which  is 
called  the  Deity,  but  he  has  no  doubt  at  all  that  men 
grow  wise  in  the  degree  in  which  they  learn,  and,  so  far 
as  they  can,  practise  and  reproduce,  the  characteristics  of 
that  which  is  the  Source  of  all  created  life,  as  these  are 
manifested  in  the  methods  made  apparent  in  the  works 
of  nature. 

It  can  hardly  be  necessary  to  point  out  the  relation 
between  what  has  been  said  and  the  particular  subject  of 
which  we  are  treating.  If  the  mere  forms  of  nature  can 
suggest  the  infinite,  the  eternal,  the  absolute,  and  much, 
also,  with  reference  to  the  character  of  the  Life  of  which 
these  are  attributes,  then  the  forms  of  art,  even  though 
they  be,  as  is  sometimes  the  case,  no  more  than  imitations 
of  those  of  nature,  can  do  the  same.  But  before  we  turn 
to  show,  in  detail,  the  bearings  upon  art  of  what  has  been 
said,  we  must  unfold  still  more  clearly  the  intimate,  and 
what  may  prove  to  some  the  unexpected,  relationship 
between  the  methods  of  operation  in  nature  and  what  men 
term  the  truth. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   HIGHEST   SIGNIFICANCE  :    THE   NATURE   OF   TRUTH 

AS  INDICATED  BY  THE  SOURCES  TO  WHICH  MEN 

ATTRIBUTE  IT,  AND  THE  TERMS  BY  WHICH 

THEY   CHARACTERIZE   IT. 

The  Value  of  Significance  Determined  by  the  Truth  in  it  —  Scientists  and 
Philosophers  Search  for  Truth  behind  Appearances  in  Space  —  And  in 
Time  —  Therefore  Conceive  it  to  be  not  alone  in  the  Appearances 
themselves  —  But  in  these  as  Related  to  Certain  Methods  of  Operation 
—  Same  Facts  Shown  by  the  Treatment  Given  to  Formal  Statements  — 
The  Truth  in  them  Discovered  by  Regarding  Relations  to  Surrounding 
Circumstances  —  Therefore  to  Methods  of  Operation  —  Absolute  Truth 
as  Existing  without  Reference  to  Relations  —  Necessity  of  Consider- 
ing Methods  of  Operation  Shown  by  Men's  Ways  of  Characterizing 
Truth  :  Meanings  of  the  Adjective  True  —  Further  Meanings  —  The 
Meanings  when  Material  or  Bodily  Conditions  are  Compared  with 
Mental  or  Spiritual  —  Its  Meanings  when  Applied  to  Language  —  The 
False  in  Language  is  a  Want  of  Conformity  to  a  Method  of  Operation  in 
a  Mental  Process  —  Summary  of  the  Meanings  of  the  Word  True  —  Of 
the  Word  Truth  —  Its  Special  and  General  Applications. 


*T^HE  value  of  significance  of  any  kind  is  measured  by 
the  degree  of  its  truthfulness.  Few  can  have  read 
the  preceding  chapter  attentively  without  finding  them- 
selves asking  how  far  the  conceptions  suggested  by  ap- 
pearances in  space  and  in  time  combined,  and,  therefore, 
by  methods  of  operation,  may  be  supposed  to  conform  to 
what  we  term  the  truth.  They  ask  this  because  they 
recognize  that  a  vague,  general  conception  of  the  possi- 
bility of  there  being  something  infinite,  eternal,  and  ab- 

26 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH.         2/ 

solute  is  very  different  from  definite,  specific  indications 
of  the  significance  of  this,  such  as  are  needed  for  practi- 
cal guidance.  They  cannot  be  satisfied,  therefore,  with 
what  has  been  said  thus  far.  They  desire  to  know,  in 
addition,  whether  the  same  principle  that  conditions  the 
ascertaining  of  truth  of  the  more  generic  character  con- 
ditions, as  well,  the  ascertaining  of  truth  of  the  more 
specific  character.  In  this  and  the  following  chapter,  an 
attempt  will  be  made  to  show  that  the  same  principle 
does  apply  in  all  cases, — in  other  words,  that  what  men 
mean  by  the  truth,  whenever  they  use  the  term,  is  a  con- 
ception or  a  statement  of  that  which  is  true  to  something ; 
and  that  this  something,  while  often  a  condition  which 
appears  upon  the  surface,  is  often  too,  and,  in  the  last 
analysis,  can  be  proved  to  be  always,  itself  conditioned 
upon  some  method  of  operation  to  which  it  is  materially 
or  mentally  related. 

In  order  to  attain  our  object,  i.  e.,  to  determine  exactly 
what  it  is  to  which  men  refer  when  they  use  the  word 
truth, — what  it  is  that  they  conceive  it  to  be, — it  seems 
well  to  start  by  learning  what  we  can  from  the  sources  to 
which,  when  searching  for  truth,  they  are  accustomed  to 
attribute  it.  Through  observing  what  they  seek  in  such 
cases,  we  certainly  ought  to  gather  some  suggestions  with 
reference  to  what  they  think  it  to  be  when  obtained. 
Scientists  and  philosophers  investigate,  as  we  say,  the 
appearances  surrounding  them.  But  what  in  these  do 
they  investigate?  Merely  the  appearances  as  appear- 
ances? Do  they  believe  that. they  can  obtain  the  truth 
thus — even  a  part  of  it,  to  say  nothing  of  the  whole  of  it  ? 
Not  at  all.  They  often  tear  each  superficial  appearance 
into  shreds.  To  detect  its  subtle  elements,  they  hunt 
for  them  as  for  hidden  treasure.  Then,  looking,  if  possi- 


28        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

ble,  through  the  elements,  they  strain  their  vision  onward 
and  inward,  as  if,  beyond  the  whole  material  fabric,  were 
something  still  for  which  they  are  in  search.  Their  efforts 
often  are  of  no  avail.  They  prove,  at  least,  that  each  who 
undertakes  them  has  a  firm  conviction  that  the  truth  can 
be  discovered  through  the  outward  forms  of  nature,  else 
why  should  he  examine  them  ?  And  they  prove,  as  well, 
his  firm  conviction  that  the  truth  cannot  be  attributed  to 
that  which  is  wholly  in  the  outward  forms,  else  why 
should  he,  in  his  examination,  try  to  probe  beneath  them  ? 

Appearances  are  not  confined  to  stationary  forms  alone. 
Another  element  is  potent  in  the  universe.  The  folds 
upon  earth's  mighty  vestment  rise  and  fall.  The  fickle 
shadows  come  and  go.  The  brilliant  colors  separate  and 
blend.  One  listens  and  he  hears  the  bustle  of  perpetual 
movement.  He  infers  that  somewhere  underneath  the 
movement  there  must  throb  a  heart  of  life ;  that  there 
must  be  a  cause,  and  that  connected  with  the  cause  he 
shall  discover  truth.  And  so  he  turns  once  more  upon 
the  forms,  and  uses  other  tests.  He  puts  them  through 
augmented  changes  for  experiment.  He  boils,  he  burns, 
he  dissipates,  he  fuses,  he  compounds  them.  His  efforts 
often  end  in  no  discoveries,  and  yet  they  prove,  at  least,, 
his  firm  conviction  that  the  truth  may  be  discovered 
through  the  outward  changes,  else  why  should  he  ex- 
amine them  ?  They  prove,  as  well,  his  firm  conviction 
that  the  truth  cannot  be  attributed  to  that  which  is  wholly 
in  the  outward  changes,  else  why  should  he,  in  each  experi- 
ment, try  so  hard  to  attain  to  that  which  has  conditioned 
them  ? 

Indeed,  if  the  truth  were  wholly  in  outward  shapes  or 
changes,  why  would  it  not  be  patent  to  the  eye  of  every 
one  ?  To  recognize  it,  what  would  be  the  need  of  more 


THE   HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH.         2g 

consideration  than  a  single  superficial  glance?  Yet  all 
the  world  admit  that  truth  is  something  that  in  any 
large  degree  is  revealed  alone  to  one  with  penetration, 
perseverance,  and  a  more  than  ordinary  measure  of  in- 
telligence. 

But  to  say  that  the  truth  for  which  these  men  are 
searching  lies  not  wholly  in  the  outward  shape  or  change, 
is  to  make  no  more  than  a  negation.  Let  us  turn  to  the 
scientist  and  philosopher  again,  and  find  out  positively,  if 
we  can,  precisely  what  that  is,  in  search  of  which  each 
studies  the  appearances  of  nature.  We  need  not  linger 
long  here.  All  recognize  that  no  one  is  a  scientist  in 
reality  who  merely  knows,  no  matter  how  extensively, 
the  surface-facts  with  reference  to  shapes  and  changes. 
Before  we  can  call  him  one,  we  must  believe  that  he  has 
looked  beneath  appearances,  and  through  their  agency 
has  been  led  to  apprehend,  if  not  to  comprehend,  what  in 
Chapter  II.  were  termed  the  operations  and  the  methods 
of  the  operations  that  have  brought  things  to  their  present 
state.  And  is  it  not  a  fact  that  a  man  is  acknowledged 
to  rank  high  in  science  and  philosophy  in  the  degree 
alone  in  which  he  has  been  able  to  discover  and  to  prove 
that  certain  of  these  methods  operate  identically  beneath 
phenomena  that  in  themselves  are  different  ?  Have  not 
Hegel,  Spencer,  and  Darwin  attained  their  eminence 
mainly  because,  in  the  opinion  of  their  followers,  they 
have  had  the  penetration  to  detect  some  one  of  these 
methods  whose  operations  can  be  illustrated  by  analogous 
occurrences  in  all  the  different  departments  and  develop- 
ments of  nature?  Some  method  of  this  kind,  some  prin- 
ciple of  inevitable  applicability,  according  to  which  each 
endeavors  to  explain  the  facts  of  nature, — in  other  words, 
to  which  each  endeavors  to  show  that  these  facts  con- 


3<D        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

form, — constitutes  the  basis  of  his  scientific  or  philosophic 
system.  This  is  that,  in  order  to  discover  which  the 
shapes  and  changes  of  the  universe  have  been  examined 
by  him.  This  is  that  which,  when  discovered,  he  terms 
the  truth. 

That  such  is  the  case  is  exemplified  by  his  treatment 
not  only  of  the  forms  of  nature,  but  of  the  statements  of 
others  representing  what,  before  his  time,  they  have 
learned  from  these  forms.  It  is  exemplified  in  his  treat- 
ment even  of  verbal  statements  that  he  believes  to  be 
accurate.  Take,  for  instance,  because  this  is  the  best 
possible  example  to  which  one  can  refer,  the  way  in  which 
a  Biblical  scholar  examines  the  text  of  the  Scriptures  even 
when  he  considers  it  to  be  inerrant.  Is  he  satisfied  to  ac- 
cept the  surface-meaning  of  the  text?  Does  he  not  rather 
search  beneath  it,  just  as  we  have  found  that  scientists  do 
when  trying  to  discover  the  truth  through  the  forms  of 
matter  ?  He  doubts,  he  re-examines,  and  with  any  number 
of  learned  opinions  weighed  against  his  own  decision,  not 
infrequently,  he  ventures  to  uphold  it.  In  doing  this,  he 
proves  that  he  believes  that  the  truth,  though  expressed 
in  a  form  of  thought,  is  not  identical  with  the  form  itself, 
but  underneath  it. 

Now,  underneath  a  form  of  thought,  what  is  it  that  must 
be  considered  before  we  can  know  the  whole  truth  that  is 
expressed  ?  When  wise  men  hear  a  statement,  what  is  the 
chief  criterion  by  which  they  test  its  credibility?  Is  it 
not  the  circumstances  in  which  it  is  uttered,  or  to  which 
it  applies?  And  what  are  circumstances?  Are  they  not 
things  that  stand  around,  that  come  before,  beside,  or 
after?  To  regard  a  thing  in  connection  with  its  circum- 
stances, what  is  this  but  to  regard  it  as  a  something  acted 
on,  and  thus  as  a  something  that  is  connected  with  other 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH.         31 

things  that  act — that  is  to  say,  as  in  itself  a  part  of  a 
process,  as  in  itself  a  constituent  element  of  an  operation  ? 

But  an  operation  in  its  progress  may  pass  through  many 
different  phases.  At  any  given  time,  each  of  these  phases 
in  succession  may  represent  the  method  operating  through 
them  all.  If  when  the  sun  is  on  the  horizon  I  affirm  that 
in  an  hour  it  will  be  dark,  I  may  speak  truth  or  falsehood, — 
truth  if  it  be  evening,  falsehood  if  it  be  morning.  The 
truth  or  falsehood,  which  is  not  determined  by  a  similarity 
or  difference  in  the  statements, — is  it  not  determined  by 
the  degree  in  which  the  statement  fits,  or  is  true  to 
methods  as  these  really  operate  in  nature?  In  nature  it 
grows  dark  at  night,  but  not  at  dawn.  Again,  if  I  place 
a  bud  in  the  sunlight,  it  becomes  a  flower ;  but  if  I  place 
a  flower  there,  it  withers.  Therefore  in  making  a  state- 
ment concerning  the  effect  of  sunshine  on  the  appearance 
of  a  bush,  I  must  regard  the  period  in  the  process  of  its 
growth.  Once  more,  there  is  one  method  of  operation  in 
religious  life.  But  if  a  patriarch  in  the  early  ages  became 
religious,  his  impulse  to  duty  might  have  prompted  him 
to  multiply  the  number  of  his  wives  (Deut.  xxv.,  5-9). 
A  similar  impulse  in  modern  times  prompts  a  Christian  to 
content  himself  with  one  wife ;  and  in  making  statements 
concerning  the  effects  of  religion  on  the  lives  of  either 
of  these  men,  one  must  regard  the  circumstances  in 
which  each  is  placed.  These  examples  show  that  no  one 
is  fit  to  judge  of  the  truth  if  devoid  of  sufficient  insight — 
to  say  nothing  of  experience — to  enable  him  to  look  be- 
neath the  formula.  Precisely  similar  statements  may  be 
true  or  false  even  when  applied  to  similar  occurrences,  if 
these  be  manifested  in  different  circumstances  of  time  or 
of  place. 

Nevertheless  all  men  believe  that  there  is  such  a  thing 


32        REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

as  absolute  truth.  But  where  is  it,  and  when  do  state- 
ments  give  expression  to  it  ?  In  the  realm  of  nature,  we 
have  found  the  absolute  to  be  suggested  by  a  similar 
method  indicated  through  all  the  different  phases  which 
the  different  forms  assume ;  and  we  have  found,  too,  that 
the  philosopher  discovers  what  he  conceives  to  be  the 
essence  of  the  absolute  so  far  alone  as  he  discovers  this 
method  into  which  all  differences  fit,  or  to  which  they  can 
all  be  manifested  to  be  true.  Why  should  not  the  same 
principle  apply  universally  ? 

This  question  will  be  recognized  by  all  as  having  a 
certain  pertinence.  But  can  the  conception  from  which 
it  springs  stand  the  test  of  analysis?  Appropriate  as  this 
conception  may  be  when  the  term  truth  is  used  in  an 
abstract  and  general  sense,  is  it  equally  so  when  used 
in  a  concrete  and  specific  sense?  The  answer  to  this 
question  necessitates  our  taking  up  the  second  topic 
mentioned  in  the  heading  of  this  chapter,  namely,  the 
nature  of  truth  as  indicated  by  the  terms  by  which  men 
characterize  it,  in  other  words,  as  shown  by  the  conditions 
to  which  men  apply  the  word  truth.  Here,  in  order  to 
make  our  survey  of  the  subject  as  broad  as  possible,  let  us 
begin  by  noticing  the  use  of  the  much  more  broadly  ap- 
plicable adjective  true.  Primarily,  this  adjective  refers  to 
that  which  conforms  to  something,  or  fits  it.  Nothing  is 
true,  except  as  it  is  true  to  some  other  appearance  or  con- 
ception with  which  it  is  compared.  This  meaning  is 
evident,  even  when  we  use  the  term  merely  in  contrast  to 
the  term  fake.  When  we  say  that  a  "door"  is  true,  in- 
dicating that  it  is  what  it  appears  to  be,  that  it  is  really  a 
door,  and  not  an  imitation  of  one,  we  mean  that  it  con- 
forms, or  is  fitted,  to  that  conception  of  a  door  which  we 
have  in  imagination.  In  this  use  of  the  word  true,  one 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE  -   TOE   TXtFTH.        33 


-   ::..    r  _~  ":  :  ? 7  L    -. ,  '  t^n:  ;  -  r      _  _:    r. :  I.;  r  1.1.2.1    «  r    i"r 

taking  into  consideration  certain   conditions 

thr  i'  _  -. iri: ". :rf.      r.  :.~ 

so  to  speak,  to  operate  as  they  do  upon  the  eve.     The 

comparison  is  between  the  effect  of  a  real  door  and  die 

effect  which  some  supposed  door  might  hare  upon  some 

supposed  spectator. 

This,  in  some  of  its  applications,  is  not  an  uncommon 
use  of  the  adjective.  For  instance,  the  sentence;  ** John 
is  his  true  name,*"  implies  a  comparison  between  the 
effect  of  a  certain  form  upon  us  in  calling  to  our  thoughts 
or  lips  the  word  Jokm^  and  the  effect  which  his  sup- 
posed form,  if  present,  would  have  upon  a  supposed 
acquaintance. 

But  there  are  other  possible  ways  of  interpreting  this 
phrase,  "the  door  is  true."  It  may  mean  that  the  door 
resembles  in  material,  size,  shape,  color,  or,  perhaps,  in 
only  one  of  these  regards,  some  other  doors  which  are 
near  it.  In  these  cases,  too,  it  is  evident  that  die  com- 
parison is  not  between  appearances  except  so  far  as  they 
are  considered  effects  produced  by  certain  like  methods  of 
operation  upon  the  eye.  Or  the  phrase  may  mean  that  the 
door  fits  into  its  doorway,  or  conforms  to  the  architectural 
design  of  the  room  or  building  in  which  it  is  seen ;  and, 
in  this  case,  there  may  be  involved  no  likeness  whatever 
in  the  appearances  as  mere  appearances.  It  is  in  the 
effects  which  certain  principles  controlling  the  construc- 
tion of  straight  lines,  angles,  or  curves  have  upon  both  the 
door  and  its  framework,  or  upon  the  door  and  also  upon 
the  windows,  cornices,  or  gables  accompanying  it. 

The  word  /racr,  therefore,  does  not  imply  necessarily 
a  comparison  between  external  forms  or  appearances. 


34         REPRESENTA  TIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

Nor,  again,  does  it  imply  necessarily  a  comparison  between 
the  substances  of  which  these  forms  are  compounded, 
because  the  constituent  elements  are  often  known  to 
differ  as  widely  as  the  constituted  appearances.  A  paint- 
ing, for  instance,  may  be  true  to  a  hall  in  which  it  is  hung. 
Every  one  of  the  cases  mentioned,  however,  does  imply 
a  correspondence  between  conditions  beneath  the  forms, 
which  conditions  produce  effects.  Whatever  produces 
an  effect,  operates.  If  anything  operate  upon  differ- 
ent material  elements  in  such  a  manner  as  to  indicate 
similarity,  the  similarity,  which  cannot  be  in  the  matter  of 
the  elements,  must  be  in  the  manner, — in  other  words,  in 
the  'method  of  operation. 

This  statement  will  be  rendered  more  apparent  when 
we  apply  the  word  true  not  to  that  which  is  made  to  con- 
form or  to  be  fitted  to  material  conditions,  but  to 
mental  conditions.  A  man's  words  or  deeds,  for  example, 
are  said  to  be  true  to  his  opinions  or  character.  How 
can  they  be  true  to  that  which  in  itself  is  invisible? 
The  visible  cannot  conform  to  the  invisible  in  form  or  in 
substance.  It  must  conform  to  it  in  the  manner,  or  in 
the  method  of  operation.  One  says,  again,  that  the  color 
upon  a  maiden's  cheek  is  true.  By  this  he  means  that 
the  flush  or  the  pallor  there  is  produced  according  to  a 
method  that  conforms  to  that  of  nature, — is  not  a  result  of 
mere  painting  or  washing,  but  is  a  result  of  the  move- 
ment of  the  unseen  blood  within  the  system  ;  and,  more 
than  this  often,  that  it  is  conformed  to  unseen  mental 
excitement  or  depression.  This  use  of  the  term  is 
revealed  still  more  plainly  when  we  come  to  consider 
the  possibility  of  the  existence  in  man  of  both  a  body 
and  a  soul.  The  body  is  material ;  the  soul,  so  far,  at 
least,  as  we  can  become  acquainted  with  it,  is  imma- 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH.         35 

terial.  How  now  can  the  bodily  expression  be  true  to 
the  soul's  experience?  In  formal  appearance,  frowns, 
gestures,  words,  do  not  resemble  anger,  Reeling,  or  thought. 
Evidently  the  expression  is  true  in  the  degree  only  in 
which  it  represents  the  method  of  the  soul's  operations. 

It  may  be  asked,  perhaps,  if  single  words  do  not  often 
give  expression  to  thoughts,  and  how  it  is  that  a  single 
word  can  represent  a  method  of  operation,  which  term 
operation  necessarily  implies  a  process.  The  answer  is 
that  a  single  word  does  not  express  thought  except  so  far 
as  the  word  may  be  perceived  to  be  related  in  some 
way  to  a  series  of  words.  One  asks,  "  Do  you  love  me  ?  " 
The  answer  is  "Yes,"  perhaps;  but  this  "  yes  "  has  no 
meaning,  conveys  no  thought,  except  to  one  acquainted 
with  the  previous  question.  Then  it  is  recognized  to  be 
a  short  way  of  indicating  the  process  which  would  be 
fully  expressed  by  saying,  "  I  love  you."  A  child,  con- 
fronted with  a  fearful  sight,  cries  out,  "  Oh  !  "  This  "  oh  " 
conveys  no  unmistakable  meaning  except  to  one  who 
has  knowledge  of  its  cause.  Then  it  is  recognized  to  be 
an  effect  of  the  process  of  thought  or  feeling  started 
by  that  sight.  The  fact  is  that  thoughts  in  the  mind 
invariably  flow  consecutively,  one  combination  of  them 
following  another.  For  this  reason  each  combination, 
except  when  expressed  in  an  abbreviated  form,  because  this 
is  supposed  to  be  sufficient  to  suggest  the  longer  form,  is 
invariably  represented  in  what  is  termed  a  sentence.  A 
sentence  always  implies  or  expresses  a  subject,  a  predicate, 
and  an  object.  This  is  true  even  where  the  predicate 
is  a  passive  verb,  because,  in  this  case,  the  subject  and 
object  are  the  same.  A  subject,  a  predicate,  and  an 
object  indicate  a  beginning  of  a  movement,  a  movement, 
and  an  end  of  it.  A  movement  is  an  operation.  There- 


36        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

fore  every  sentence  expresses  an  operation.  And  not 
only  so,  but  it  expresses  a  method  of  operation.  Sense 
is  not  indicated  simply  by  an  order  of  sequence  in  words. 
This  order  may  differ  in  different  languages,  and  even  in 
the  same  language.  "  If  so,  I  will  go,"  means  exactly  the 
same  as  "  I  will  go,  if  so."  Sense  is  indicated  by  the 
order  of  dependence  in  the  words,  that  is,  by  the  method 
in  which  one  word  is  made  to  affect  or  to  be  affected  by 
another.  Accordingly  it  may  be  said  that  every  sentence 
manifests  a  method  of  operation.  Moreover,  as  this  is 
manifested  in  language,  and  as  language  is  always  repre- 
sentative of  something  that  is  not  language,  the  method 
of  operation  in  the  words  must  be  representative  of  one 
that  takes  place  in  a  sphere  which  is  not  that  of  words. 
If  one  say,  "  I  went  there,"  he  means  that  the  method  of 
operation  in  his  words  represents  the  method  of  operation 
in  his  deeds.  If  the  order  of  dependence  of  the  words 
upon  one  another,  /.  *.,  the  method  of  operation  indi- 
cated by  them,  do  not  agree  with  the  method  in  some 
other  department  which  they  are  supposed  to  represent, 
we  have  what  is  false.  A  falsehood  is  simply  a  statement 
that  there  was  some  operation  which  never  took  place,  or 
a  misstatement  of  the  method  of  that  operation, — a  substi- 
tution of  some  fictitious  subject,  predicate,  or  object  in 
place  of  one  really  representing  the  conditions,  or  an 
inversion  of  the  order  in  which  one  of  these  parts  of  the 
sentence  should  be  made  to  depend  upon  other  parts. 
This  is  so  evident  that  it  need  not  be  illustrated. 

Accordingly,  we  see  that  our  usage  of  the  words  true 
and  truth  indicates  conformity — based  upon  comparison 
— not  alone  to  forms  or  to  formulae,  but  to  methods  of 
operation.  If  I  say  that  a  man  is  true  to  himself  I  seldom 
mean  merely  that  his  deeds  or  words  compare  with  other 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE  :    THE    TRUTH.         37 

of  his  deeds  or  words.  I  usually  mean  that  the  methods 
of  operation  in  them  compare  with  methods  of  operation 
in  others  of  them,  or  I  may  mean  not  that  they  com- 
pare with  words  or  deeds  at  all,  but  that  they  compare 
with  the  developments  of  mental  operations  which  both 
represent,  and  which  take  place  in  the  dissimilar  and  non- 
apparent  realm  of  consciousness.  If  I  say  that  a  friend 
is  true  to  another  I  seldom  mean  that  this  friend's  face, 
deeds,  words,  thoughts,  feelings,  or  even  wishes  are  simi- 
lar to  the  other  man's.  I  usually  mean  that  the  friend, 
with  his  own  face,  etc.,  has  a  way  of  acting  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  carry  out  the  other  man's  purposes.  It  is  a 
law  of  life  that  one's  actions  are  so  ordered  as  to  secure 
his  own  welfare.  If  his  friend's  actions  be  made  to 
accomplish  the  same  result,  then  this  friend  is  true  to 
him.  When  a  man  is  true  to  God,  he  is  true  to  the  charac- 
ter of  God,  as  this  has  been  revealed  to  him  through 
methods  of  operation  in  nature  and  in  revelation.  This 
thought  will  be  brought  out  more  distinctly  in  the  fol- 
lowing chapters. 

At  present  we  need  dwell  no  longer  on  the  adjective 
true.  We  have  traced  it  from  its  lowest  to  its  highest 
signification.  When  attributed  to  any  form,  material  or 
imagined,  of  structure,  deed,  or  word,  the  adjective  indi- 
cates that  the  form  is  conformed  to  another  form,  with 
which,  in  whole  or  in  part,  in  general  effect  or  in  under- 
lying conditions,  it  is  compared.  The  fact  of  conformity 
is  made  evident  sometimes  because  the  forms  appear 
alike,  by  which  we  mean  that  they  operate  similarly  on 
the  eye,  ear,  or  some  other  sense,  or,  at  times,  on  the 
imagination  regarding  them  ;  and  the  fact  is  made  evident 
at  other  times  because,  while  they  do  not  appear  alike, 
nevertheless  they  manifest  certain  results  of  like  methods 


38        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

which,  upon  different  existences,  or,  possibly,  in  different 
spheres  of  existence, — one  material  and  one  mental, — have 
been  operating  to  produce  the  appearances. 

Truth  is  the  substance  of  that  of  which  true  is  the  qual- 
ity. As  what  is  termed  an  expression,  whether  made  in  a 
form  of  words  or  of  deeds,  of  literary  art  or  of  plastic  art, 
cannot  invariably  conform  in  form  or  appearance  to  what 
is  audible,  visible,  or  tangible  in  the  external  world,  the 
truth  in  such  an  expression  cannot  be  said  to  be  deter- 
mined invariably  by  anything  except  the  conformity  of 
the  method  of  the  expression's  operation  upon  the  mind 
(whether  influencing  intelligence  or  emotion)  to  the 
method  of  operation  (upon  either  the  senses  or  the  mind) 
indicated  in  existing  external  appearances  or  processes  to 
which  the  expression  refers.  In  such  an  expression,  the 
truth  or  a  truth,  as  the  term  is  applied  specifically,  is  de- 
termined by  the  conformity  of  the  method  of  the  ex- 
pression's operation  upon  the  mind  to  a  particular  method 
of  operation  to  which  a  particular  appearance  is  related. 
In  a  similar  expression,  the  truth,  as  the  term  is  applied 
generically,  is  determined  by  the  conformity  of  the  method 
of  the  expression's  operation  upon  the  mind  to  one  method 
of  operation  in  the  universe  to  which  one  method  all 
methods  under  particular  appearances  are  supposed  to  be 
organically  related.  It  is  in  this  latter  sense,  to  recall 
again  what  was  said  in  Chapter  II.,  that  the  truth  can  be 
said  to  be  infinite,  eternal,  and  absolute. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE  :   THE  NATURE  OF  TRUTH  AS 

INDICATED   BY   THE    METHODS   IN   LANGUAGE  AND 

LIFE,   THROUGH   WHICH    MEN   EXPRESS   IT. 

Objections  to  the  View  Presented  in  the  Third  Chapter — Truth  as  Expressed 
in  Language  should  not  be  Confounded  with  the  Formula  :  Illustrated 
from  Interpretations  of  the  Bible — Its  History  Noteworthy  for  the  Meth- 
ods and  Results  of  Life,  etc.,  which  the  Events  Exemplify — Its  Proph- 
ecies Valuable  for  their  Fulfilment  not  only,  but  Applicability  to  Laws 
Operating  everywhere — Confirmation  of  this  Principle  of  Interpretation 
of  the  Bible  in  its  Explanations — Its  Arguments — Its  Injunctions — Real 
Meaning  Lost  when  Truth  is  Supposed  to  be  Conformed  to  Formulae 
alone,  and  not  also  to  Methods  of  Operation — Importance  of  Observ- 
ing this  Distinction — The  Use  of  the  Word  Truth  in  the  Bible — Il- 
lustrations— Truth  as  Expressed  in  Life — Truth  to  the  Divine  Spirit  is 
Action  in  Conformity  with  the  Divine  Method — Truth  is  Perceived  in 
the  Process  of  Searching  for  it — Dangers  of  Supposing  Progress  or 
Change  Inconsistent  with  Absoluteness  in  Truth  :  The  Source  both  of 
Infidelity  and  Bigotry — Right  Views  of  Truth  as  a  Corrective  of  these 
— The  Truth  in  Revealed  and  Natural  Religion  Lies  in  its  Method — 
He  who  Recognizes  this  a  Friend  to  both  Progress  and  Permanence — 
Inferences  from  the  View  here  Presented— A  Few  Forms  in  Space  may 
Reveal  Universal  Methods — One  Mind  may  Represent  God — And  One 
Life,  if  Full  of  Love — The  Mission  of  the  Friend — Comfort  in  this 
Suggestion — The  Changes  of  a  Few  Moments  in  Time  may  Reveal 
Universal  Methods — Child  or  Man,  with  Short  or  Long  Life,  may 
both  have  Experience  of  them. 

"DEFORE  such  conceptions  as  are  here  being  unfolded 

can  commend  themselves  to  all,  it  is  necessary  to 

show  their  conformity  to  what  men  accept  and  serve  when 

the  truth  is  received  and   obeyed   by  them.     Otherwise, 

39 


40        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

some  may  not  perceive  how,  if  not  identical  with  a  form 
of  statement,  as,  for  instance,  in  a  creed  or  a  dogma,  the 
truth  can  influence  thought  or  action  to  the  degree  in 
which  it  should.  They  may  find  fault  with  a  theory 
which  seems  to  weaken  faith  because  lessening  confidence 
in  that  on  which  spiritual  life  depends  for  guidance.  In 
the  present  chapter  an  endeavor  will  be  made  to  show 
that  this  theory  does  not  have  the  effect  thus  attributed 
to  it,  but  rather  the  opposite. 

It  seems  to  be  a  legitimate  inference,  from  what  was 
said  in  the  third  chapter,  that,  to  be  rightly  influenced  by 
a  statement,  we  need  to  be  influenced  by  something  more 
than  the  statement  itself.  But  the  same  inference  maybe 
drawn  as  a  result  of  other  considerations.  For  instance, 
if  truth  were  identical  with  a  formula  presenting  it,  why 
would  not  one's  wisdom  be  proportioned  to  his  memory  ? 
But  of  course  it  is  not.  Again,  why  is  candor  necessary 
in  order  to  attain  success  in  an  intellectual  investigation, 
or  charity  in  a  religious  one  ?  How  can  wise  philosophers 
or  earnest  theologians,  convinced  to  the  contrary,  too, 
yield  a  conscientious  toleration  to  the  views  of  their  op- 
ponents ?  With  what  reason  can  they,  in  their  words  as 
well  as  in  their  deeds,  virtually  act  upon  the  hypothesis 
that  truth  may  be  expressed  in  statements  diametrically 
opposed  to  those  that  they  themselves  make?  How  could 
one  affirm  of  two  such  statements,  "  Both  are  true,"  un- 
less intending  to  admit,  and  conscious  that  the  one  to 
whom  the  assertion  is  addressed  will  just  as  readily  admit, 
that  by  the  truth  something  is  meant  which  is  communi- 
cated through  the  statement,  but  is  not  by  any  means 
identical  with  it.  Or,  to  apply  the  same  thought  where, 
in  this  connection,  it  will  have  the  most  significance,  i.  e.,  to 
the  statements  of  creeds  or  dogmas  of  which  mention  has 


THE   HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH.         41 

just  been  made,  what  church  is  there  that  fails  to  recog- 
nize the  necessity,  where  one  is  to  be  influenced,  as  he 
should  be,  by  such  statements,  of  that  spiritual  discernment 
of  which  the  Apostle  Paul  speaks  when,  in  I  Cor.  ii.,  14, 
he  says  that  "  the  natural  man  receiveth  not  the  things  of 
the  Spirit  of  God,  .  .  .  because  they  are  spiritually  dis- 
cerned "  ?  What  is  spiritual  discernment  ?  Let  us  consider 
it  for  a  little,  and,  that  there  may  be  no  doubt  as  to  its 
meaning,  let  us  examine  it  where  there  is  the  least  possible 
opportunity  of  admitting  a  difference  between  the  phrase- 
ology and  the  meaning  which  the  phraseology  is  intended 
to  convey  ;  let  us  apply  it,  that  is,  to  the  words  of  the  Bible. 
The  greater  portion,  perhaps,  of  this  book  is  composed 
of  history  and  prophecy.  Who  imagines  that  the  history 
in  it  is  valuable  chiefly  on  account  of  the  events  related  con- 
sidered merely  as  events?  Is  it  not  rather  on  account  of 
the  events  considered  as  illustrative  of  principles,  illustra- 
tive, /'.  *.,  of  the  methods  of  the  divine  government,  of  the 
modes  according  to  which  spiritual  laws  operate?  Do 
commentators  or  do  preachers  represent  that  the  mere 
memory  of  the  transactions  recorded  in  the  book  is  more 
important  than  the  morals  to  be  drawn  from  the  transac- 
tions which,  in  the  order  of  their  occurrence,  indicate  the 
methods  of  the  development  of  spiritual  life  everywhere? 
Are  not  the  individuals  and  the  nations  mentioned  in 
the  book  understood  to  be  typical  of  all  individuals  and 
nations?  Are  not  their  experiences  recognized  to  be 
intended  to  reveal  primarily  the  methods  in  which  doubt 
or  faith  and  sin  or  righteousness  in  every  age  and  country 
are  either  punished  or  rewarded?  Is  it  not  the  revelation 
of  these  methods  that  renders  possible  a  sermon  based 
upon  a  story  in  the  Bible  ?  Is  it  not  the  possibility  of  our 
conforming  our  own  lives  to  the  methods,  that  renders  it 


42         REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

possible  for  us  to  be  benefited  by  the  truth  derivable 
from  the  story  ?  Certainly  the  last  four  questions  can  be 
answered  in  the  affirmative.  Indeed,  it  is  to  the  well- 
nigh  universal  recognition  that  such  an  answer  can  be 
made,  that  we  must  ascribe  the  fact  that,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  the  "  higher  criticism  "  of  the  last  two  decades 
has  been  able  to  persuade  so  many  that  the  acknowledg- 
ing that  much  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  Bible  is  a  result 
of  tendencies  which,  in  unscientific  ages,  lead  men  to 
draw  what  are  merely  supposed  to  be  historic  lessons 
from  an  indiscriminate  use  of  traditions  and  legends  that 
are  not  historic,  need  not  lessen  one's  faith  in  the  spirit- 
ual truth  of  the  revelation  itself, — any  more  than  need  the 
use  of  figures  by  David  in  his  psalms,  or  of  parables 
by  Jesus  in  his  discourses. 

The  same  principle  applies  to  the  prophecy  of  the  Bible. 
Of  what  special  value  to  our  time  is  it  to  be  told  that 
Tyre  or  Sidon  shall  be  destroyed  on  account  of  wickedness? 
While  comparing  dates  we  learn,  of  course,  that  these 
denunciations  of  the  cities  came  before  the  destruction 
of  them  ;  and  our  faith  in  prophecy  may  be  strengthened 
by  noticing  the  fact.  Yet  the  sole  value  of  passages 
of  this  kind  does  not  rest  in  such  an  application  of  them ; 
nor  their  chief  value.  Why  do  men  to-day  read  and 
reread  these  same  passages?  Why  does  the  clergyman 
preach  about  them  ?  Is  it  not  because  it  is  felt  that  they 
have  a  significance  for  all  time,  as  well  as  for  the  times  in 
which  they  were  uttered  ?  Do  not  methods  of  operation 
evidenced  in  prophecy  as  well  as  in  history  repeat  them- 
selves ?  Although  certain  words  used  may  have  been 
uttered  in  denunciation  of  particular  cities,  and  fulfilled 
with  literal  exactness  as  applied  to  them,  may  not  the 
methods  expressed  in  the  words  be  applied  to  every  town 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH.         43 

or  country,  in  which  existing  evils  may  provoke  similar 
violence  ?  The  world  first  learned  philosophy  of  history 
from  Herder.  The  Church,  if  it  had  had  but  very  little  of 
its  treasured  "  spiritual  discernment,"  might  have  learned 
the  same  from  Moses,  and  thus  proved  the  prestige  which 
the  children  of  eternity  ought  to  have  over  those  of  time. 

Now  let  us  turn  from  history  and  prophecy  to  those 
parts  of  the  Bible  in  which  the  Scriptural  reasons  for  the 
uses  of  both  have  been  distinctly  stated.  How  many 
times,  and  in  how  clear  language,  are  we  informed  that 
certain  persons  and  events  are  to  be  interpreted  represent- 
atively !  How  many  times  that  Abraham,  Moses,  Joshua, 
David,  Jonah,  are  typical  of  the  Christ  !  How*  many 
times  that  the  flood,  the  exodus,  the  wandering  in  the 
wilderness,  the  lifting  up  of  the  serpent,  are  emblematical 
of  a  universal  method  operating  everywhere,  and  through 
which  man  can  be  delivered  from  sin  !  How  many  times 
is  the  word  Israel  or  Babylon  employed,  not  with  literal 
exactness,  but  to  indicate,  by  way  of  metonymy,  a  class  of 
people  inclined  to  righteousness  or  to  unrighteousness ! 

Those  parts  of  the  Bible  which  are  not  devoted  to  his- 
tory or  prophecy  or  explanations  of  their  methods  of 
imparting  truth  may  be  classified  under  the  head  either 
of  arguments  or  of  injunctions.  Let  us  notice  what  we 
can  learn  from  these.  Through  arguments,  truth  is  de- 
monstrated. Through  injunctions,  it  is  merely  stated. 
How  is  truth  demonstrated  in  the  Bible  ?  The  Apostle 
Paul,  whether  writing  to  the  Romans  or  to  the  Hebrews, 
argues  thus :  "  Abraham  believed  God,  and  it  was  counted 
unto  him  for  righteousness "  ( Rom.  iv.,  3).  Through 
faith,  Abel,  Enoch,  Noah,  Abraham,  and  countless  others 
"  obtained  a  good  report  "  (  Heb.  xi.,  39).  Therefore,  if 
the  Christian  believe,  his  faith  also  shall  be  so  counted, 


44        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

and  he  also  shall  obtain  a  good  report.  And  again,  all 
that  priests  and  sacrifices  of  the  former  Testament  accom- 
plished, the  Christ  of  whom  they  were  symbolical  has 
accomplished  (Heb.  x.,  7).  Therefore  the  Christian,  differ- 
ent as  are  the  forms  of  his  religion,  is  saved  according 
to  the  same  method.  But  evidently  arguments  of  this 
kind  have  no  force  whatever,  except  so  far  as  it  is  recog- 
nized that  the  truth  of  religion  consists  less  in  conformity 
to  the  apparent  form,  than  to  the  method  of  operation 
which  this  form  exemplifies.  Or  let  us  recall  the  words  of 
the  Christ.  We  are  told  that  he  never  spake  without 
a  parable  (Mark  iv.,  34).  How  do  parables  present  the 
truth?'  By  means  of  a  parallel  instance.  They  illustrate 
a  principle  applicable  to  one  phase  of  life,  through  point- 
ing to  the  way  in  which  it  operates  in  another  real  or 
fancied  phase.  They  indicate  the  working  of  a  law 
in  one  department  or  development  of  nature,  through 
instancing  its  operation  in  a  corresponding  department 
or  development.  And  they  have  no  force  whatever ; 
they  suggest  no  arguments  at  all,  except  so  far  as  man- 
kind recognizes  that  there  is  a  sense  in  which  to  find  the 
one  method  operating  in  all  different  departments  and 
developments  of  nature  is  to  find  the  truth. 

The  words  which  caused  the  common  people  to  affirm 
that  the  Master  "  spake  as  one  having  authority  "  (Matt, 
vii.,  29)  were  almost  invariably  these  statements  of  parallels. 
"  Behold  the  fowls  of  the  air,"  he  said  ;  "  .  .  .  your 
Heavenly  Father  feedeth  them.  Are  ye  not  much  better 
than  they  ?  "  (Matt,  vi.,  26).  "  If  ye,  being  evil,  know  how 
to  give  good  gifts  unto  your  children,  how  much  more 
shall  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven  give  good  things 
to  them  that  ask  him  ?  "  (Matt,  vii.,  1 1).  "  Ye  shall  know 
them  by  their  fruits.  Do  men  gather  grapes  of  thorns,  or 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH.        45 

figs  of  thistles?"  (Matt,  vii.,  16).  Such  were  the  state- 
ments of  the  Christ ;  and  not  alone  in  his  case,  but  from 
the  time  when  he  stood  upon  the  shores  of  Galilee  with- 
out one  priest  to  place  a  hand  upon  his  head  and  ordain 
him  as  a  messenger  of  God,  down  to  the  present,  in  the 
cases  of  all  men  whom  the  people  hear  with  gladness,  as 
they  throng  the  halls  of  all  the  sects,  statements  in  the 
form  of  parables  or  parallels  have  had  an  influence 
beyond  all  others  in  proving  to  men  the  presence  of 
a  mind  that  has  penetrated  to  the  sources  of  truth,  and 
can  reveal  it.  Why  ?  Because  the  masses  have  recog- 
nized the  connection  between  the  truth  and  a  method  of 
operation  applicable  universally. 

From  the  arguments  of  the  Bible  let  us  turn  now  to  its 
injunctions.  How  are  these  presented  ?  If  its  arguments 
affirm  conformity  to  like  methods  operating  beneath 
different  effects  which  are  mentioned,  its  injunctions  imply 
this  conformity.  They  refer  to  one  series  of  effects  that 
necessarily  suggests  another.  Indeed,  one  could  almost 
assert  that  that  which  mainly  causes  the  Scriptural  precepts 
to  be  accepted  by  so  many  with  the  authority  of  absolute 
truth  is  this  fact.  They  are  precepts  which  it  can  be  said 
that  men  of  every  age  and  place,  the  Hindoo  and  the 
Hottentot,  the  Englishman  and  the  Egyptian,  can  recog- 
nize to  be  truthful.  The  more  they  search  the  book,  too, 
the  more  they  find  in  it  passages  which  can  apply  to 
almost  every  series  of  their  own  experience  and  of  their 
neighbors',  and  equally  well  to  almost  every  series  of 
events  in  the  history  of  the  human  race  and  of  the  mate- 
rial world.  Upon  whatever  ground  a  man  may  base  his 
confidence  in  the  Bible,  the  testimony  of  every  thoughtful 
mind,  the  implication  of  every  Scriptural  discourse,  the 
confession  of  every  new  convert,  proves  that  a  main  source 


46        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

of  Scriptural  authority  lies  in  the  fact  which  Coleridge 
stated  when  he  said,  "  It  finds  me."  Here  is  a  book  which 
satisfies  the  wants  of  human  souls,  just  as  the  earth  about 
one  satisfies  the  wants  of  human  bodies.  The  force  of 
the  argument  of  Coleridge  is  derived  from  the  inference 
that  the  Power  which  made  man  must  have  made  the 
world,  and  that  inasmuch  as  the  precepts  of  the  Bible 
accord  with  the  laws  which  operate  in  the  world  they 
must  accord  with  the  purposes  of  this  Power.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  recall  a  single  Biblical  statement  of  a  spirit- 
ual truth  which  cannot  be  illustrated  by  showing  the  ap- 
plication of  the  method  which  it  indicates  to  the  methods 
operating  in  the  realms  of  intellect  and  of  physics.  For 
instance,  take  a  passage  like  the  following:  "Quench  not 
the  Spirit"  (i  Thess.  v.,  19).  The  analogy  is  obvious. 
Pour  not  water  on  fire.  Extinguish  not  the  life  of  one 
element  by  adding  another  hostile  to  it.  Do  not  drive 
away  spirituality  by  drawing  in  worldliness. 

There  are  other  cases  in  which  the  method  indicated  is 
less  easy  to  recognize.  In  these  we  need  to  remember 
this, — that  truths  are  simply  finite,  transient,  and  concrete 
embodiments  of  the  truth  which  is  infinite,  eternal, 
and  absolute  ;  and  that  in  order  to  perceive  the  latter  in  a 
given  formula,  we  must  distinguish  it  from  what  is  merely 
finite,  transient,  and  concrete.  For  example,  take  a  state- 
ment like  the  following:  "  Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  and  thou  shalt  be  saved  "  (Acts  xvi.,  31).  The  truth 
that  is  to  influence  us  in  this  is  either  in  the  concrete, 
transient  formula,  or  in  the  absolute,  eternal  method  of 
operation  indicated  by  the  formula.  But  if  in  the  formula, 
we  cannot  reconcile  the  statement  with  such  statements 
as  the  following,  which  also  are  in  the  Bible  :  ''Abraham 
believed  God  " — without  the  words  Jesus  Christ  added — 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH.         47 

"and  it  was  counted  unto  him  for  righteousness"  (Rom. 
iv.,  3) ;  "  In  every  nation  he  that  feareth  him,  and  work- 
eth  righteousness" — without  mention  of  believing — "  is 
accepted"  (Acts  x.,  35);  "  These,  having  not  the  law" 
—without  any  reference  even  to  a  knowledge  of  Jesus 
Christ — "are  a  law  unto  themselves"  (Rom.  ii.,  14).  Ac- 
cordingly we  must  conclude  that  the  absolute,  eternal 
truth  in  the  phrase,  "Believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
and  thou  shalt  be  saved,"  is  less  in  the  formula  than  in  the 
method  indicated  by  it.  This  method  grows  clear  to  a 
finite  mind  in  the  proportion  in  which  it  is  translated  into 
finite  terms,  or,  better,  is  made  definite.  These  two  wordsr 
Jesus  Christ,  are  intended  to  remind  one  of  what  that 
person  said  and  did  as  representing  God.  To  one  who 
recalls  the  character  of  the  representation,  the  words  make 
the  injunction  well  nigh  infinitely  clearer  to  comprehen- 
sion. Yet  these  two  words  are  definitive  and  not  infin- 
itive. The  absolute  and  eternal  truth  which  they  make 
plainer  is  the  necessity  of  faith  in  spiritual  supervision, 
love,  aid.  In  every  phase  of  nature,  all  persons  who  are 
comparatively  ignorant,  weak,  and  sinful  need  to  trust 
for  guidance  in  the  wise,  the  strong,  and  the  loving, 
and  for  the  highest  guidance  in  the  highest  wisdom, 
strength,  and  love, — hence  in  God.  To  define  this  method 
of  salvation  by  annexing  Jesus  Christ  to  the  statement, 
communicates  good  tidings  to  the  souls  who  otherwise 
would  have  vague  notions  of  a  God  unseen  ;  but  it  does 
not,  save  in  a  negative  sense,  communicate  bad  tidings  to 
the  souls  who  cannot,  or  who  do  not,  know  of  the  def- 
inition which  makes  the  infinite  truth  more  finite.  Con- 
sidered in  relation  to  the  context  and  writh  an  accurate 
conception  of  the  meaning  of  the  words  believe,  saved,  and 
Jesus  Christ,  the  passage  quoted  expresses  a  truth  funda- 


48         REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

mental  to  all  religious  character  and  charity.  But  divorced 
from  its  connection,  no  one  can  know  that  believe  means 
more  than  intellectual  assent,  or  saved  more  than  mere 
comfort  in  this  world,  or  Jesus  Christ  more  than  the 
being  who  is  sending  people  to  perdition  in  Michael 
Angelo's  picture  of  the  "  Last  Judgment." 

Once  more,  not  only  in  the  history,  prophecy,  argu- 
ments, and  injunctions  of  the  Bible  do  we  find  that  the 
truth  which  men  are  to  accept  and  obey  involves  conform- 
ity to  a  method  of  operation,  but  also,  and  in  the  clearest 
light,  in  passages  in  which  the  sacred  writers  have  em- 
ployed the  word  truth.  The  Bible  does  indeed  apply  the 
term  to  language.  "  I  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  Jesus 
(John  xvi.,  7).  But  it  has  already  been  pointed  out  that  it 
is  said  that  he  never  spake  without  a  parable ;  and  that 
all  parables  are  founded  on  a  recognition  of  the  conform- 
ity of  two  or  more  events  to  the  same  method  of  opera- 
tion. Moreover,  not  only  did  the  Christ  say,  "  I  tell  you 
the  truth,"  he  also  said,  "  I  am  the  truth"  (John  xiv.,  6); 
and  one  cannot  account  for  such  a  use  of  terms  unless 
conceiving  of  the  truth  as  something  different  from  words, 
though  of  course  it  may  also  include  them. 

What  did  the  Christ  mean  by  the  expression  ?  What 
could  he  have  meant  except  that  he  conceived  of  himself 
as  the  truth  just  as  all  nature  is  the  truth, — conceived  of 
himself  as  a  representative  of  the  character  of  the  Creative 
Power  ?  But  how  is  character  represented  ?  Always,  as 
shown  at  the  end  of  Chapter  II.,  through  methods  of  oper- 
ation. "What  is  truth?"  asked  Pilate  of  Jesus  (John 
xviii.,  38)  ;  and  was  answered — in  not  the  words  but  the 
deeds  of  the  Master — that  one  acts  according  to  the  meth- 
ods of  truth  when  long-suffering  and  self-sacrificing.  "  I  am 
the  way,"  said  Jesus,  "  the  truth,  and  the  life  "  (John  xiv., 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE  :    THE    TRUTH.        49 

6).  What  is  a  way  but  a  method  ?  What  is  a  life  but  a  prog- 
ress according  to  a  method  ?  The  Apostle,  looking  down 
that  way,  enjoined  upon  his  followers  to  "  walk  in  love, 
even  as  Christ  also  hath  loved  us,  and  hath  given  himself 
for  us  an  offering  and  a  sacrifice  to  God  "  (Eph.  v.,  2). 
"For  I  rejoiced  greatly,"  said  John,'  "when  the  brethren 
came  and  testified  of  the  truth  that  is  in  thee,  even  as 
thou  walkest  in  the  truth  "  (3  John  3) ;  and  again,  "  Let 
us  not  love  in  word,  neither  in  tongue  ;  but  in  deed  and  in 
truth  "  (i  John  iii.,  18).  To  walk  "  in  the  truth  "  and  to 
love  "  in  the  truth  "  must  mean  to  pursue  a  certain 
method.  Again,  when  the  Christ  says,  "  Every  one  that 
is  of  the  truth  heareth  my  voice  "  (John  xviii.,  37),  he 
must  refer  to  every  one  whose  feelings,  thoughts,  and 
deeds  accord  with  his  own, — to  every  one  in  active  sym- 
pathy with  his  methods  of  life.  The  same  idea  is  con- 
veyed too  in  language  like  the  following :  "  If  any  man 
will  do  his  will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine,  whether  it 
be  of  God,  or  whether  I  speak  of  myself  "  (John  vii.,  17)  ; 
"  Light  is  come  into  the  world,  and  men  loved  darkness 
rather  than  light,  because  their  deeds  were  evil  "  (John 
iii.,  19) ;  u  Not  every  one  that  saith  unto  me,  Lord,  Lord, 
shall  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ;  but  he  that 
doeth  the  will  of  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven  "  (Matt, 
vii.,  21). 

This  thought  introduces  the  last  topic  mentioned  in 
the  heading  of  the  present  chapter,  namely,  the  nature  of 
truth  as  shown  by  men's  ways  of  expressing  it  not  only 
in  language,  which  we  have  already  considered,  but  in 
life.  In  Chapter  II.  it  was  pointed  out  that,  when  a  man 
observes  the  different  phases  assumed,  say,  by  a  tree,  at 
different  times,  and  considers  also  that  these  phases  all 
appear  in  an  object  that  continues  to  occupy  the  same 


50        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

space, —  in  other  words,  that  all  take  place  in  the  same 
tree, — then  this  fact  not  only  makes  the  method  of  opera- 
tion intelligible,  but  also  causes  the  tree  to  manifest  life. 

We  have  noticed  how  closely  the  Bible  connects  life 
and  truth.  'We  can  perceive  now  the  reason  for  this. 
One's  spiritual  life,  however  vaguely  that  term  may  be 
used,  is  determined  by  one's  truth  to  the  spirit, — when  we 
use  the  term  spirit  in  the  highest  sense,  by  his  truth  to 
the  divine  spirit.  Truth  to  the  divine  spirit  is  that 
which  acts  according  to  the  divine  method.  In  the  case 
of  a  man,  because  the  words  action  and  life  thus  used 
mean  the  same,  it  is  life  according  to  the  divine  method. 
But  if  truth  were  supposed  to  be  identical  with  the  for- 
mula, where  would  be  the  suggestion  in  the  term  of  the 
necessity  of  life  ?  Why  might  not  the  truth  be  wholly 
possessed  by  being  learned  by  rote  ?  Why  might  it  not 
be  supposed  to  be  expressed  in  its  entirety  in  the  for- 
mula of  a  preceding  generation?  And  if  so,  why  would 
not  the  theory  tend  to  make  men  satisfied  with  what  they 
have,  and  so  to  check  all  effort  to  obtain  more?  So  far, 
however,  as  the  truth  is  supposed  to  involve  conformity 
to  a  method  of  operation,  it  is  evident  that  no  one  can 
imagine  himself  to  possess  it  wholly,  except  so  far  as  it 
influences  action,  except  so  far  as  he  lives  it.  It  is  this 
conception  of  the  truth  that  enables  us  to  perceive  why 
the  publican,  who  smites  upon  his  breast  and  sighs  out, 
"  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner,"  though  he  may  not 
have  fulfilled  many  a  requirement  of  a  formal  law,  should 
be  commended  rather  than  the  Pharisee,  though  he  may 
have  left  not  one  jot  or  tittle  of  this  law  unfulfilled.  The 
publican  yearns  for  higher  conceptions  and  attainments. 
He  lives  according  to  God's  methods,  and  so  has  the 
truth.  The  Pharisee  is  content  with  what  he  possesses 


THE   HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH,         51 

already.  He  does  not  live  according  to  God's  methods. 
He  does  not  have  the  truth  (Luke  xviii.,  10-14). 

Let,  then,  the  souls  so  often  blamed  because  they  look 
away  from  what  they  have,  and  search  on  every  side  of 
them  for  more,  toil  on  !  Their  toil,  though  it  may  gain 
them  little  to  be  touched  or  seen,  may  yet  develop  life  in 
them.  Each  sigh  may  force  still  farther  from  their 
breasts  the  poisonous  breath  of  error,  each  aspiration 
draw  still  nearer  them  the  inspiring  air  of  heaven. 
There  is  so  much  more  truth  on  the  earth  than  mortals 
dream  that  there  can  be  !  When  Lessing  said,  "  Did  the 
Almighty,  holding  truth  in  his  right  hand  and  search  for 
truth  in  his  left  hand,  tender  me  the  one  that  I  should 
prefer,  I  should  ask  for  the  search  for  truth  "  ;  when  Male- 
branche  affirmed,  "  If  I  held  truth  a  captive  in  my  hand, 
I  would  let  it  fly  that  I  might  once  more  chase  it,  and 
capture  it,"  they  spoke  far  more  the  wisdom  of  the 
heart  than  of  the  head.  The  truth  held  in  one's  hand  ? 
Can  truth  be  handled — all  of  it?  Is  not  often. the  effort 
of  obtaining  it,  the  method  of  discovering  it,  its  most  im- 
portant factor?  If  this  be  so,  it  is  through  the  desire  for 
truth,  and  not  in  any  sating  of  the  desire,  that  it  can  be 
possessed.  This  is  the  reason  why 

"  There  is  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds." 

In  Memoriam  :    Tennyson. 

To  the  spirit,  progress  is  more  acceptable  than  a  precept, 
life  than  a  tale  that  is  told.  Through  struggle  men  ex- 
perience development,  and  doubt  that  leads  to  struggle  is 
a  means  of  grace.  The  moment  of  the  Christ's  intensest 
doubt  came  just  before  the  greatest  victory  of  his  faith. 
The  cry,  "  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken 


52         REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

me  ?  "  (Matt,  xxvii.,  46),  was  the  minor  prelude  preceding 
the  triumphant  cadence,  "  It  is  finished  "  (John  xix.,  30). 
Even  the  very  infallible  unchangeableness  of  which 
dogmatism  sometimes  boasts  may  be  in  itself  a  ground 
for  grave  suspicion.  Is  it  the  sign  of  a  living  thing  to 
stand  unmoved  for  centuries  amid  the  shifting  seasons  of 
the  world's  advance  ? — to  fix  the  gaze  of  greatest  admira- 
tion on  the  past  ? — to  find  the  holiest  ideal  there,  and  to 
long  for  the  superior  sanctity  that  has  been  buried  ?  Did 
ever  pakiter  yet  depict  one  faintest  realization  of  a  living 
faith  in  which  the  face  was  not  turned  rather  toward  the 
future  ?  What  is  the  influence  that  sways  the  individual 
or  the  community  whose  aim  is  sought  amid  the  smoke 
of  centuries  consumed  ?  Remember  Lot's  wife  !  There 
is  a  civilization  beautiful  to  look  upon,  which  may  be  a 
monument  of  what?  Of  death — possibly  of  damnation. 
It  is  a  question  whether,  without  being  crushed  and 
killed,  a  living  thing — and  truth  is  surely  this — can  ever 
be  confined  for  long  in  a  single  unchanged  mould  ; 
whether  a  root  having  any  life  at  all  will  not  necessarily 
have  enough  of  force  to  bend  and  crack  and  cast  aside 
whatever  urn  of  worldly  manufacture  may  surround  it. 
Has  not  every  age  had  experience  enough  to  be  taught 
that  previous  ages  held  too  firmly  to  the  form,  that 
changes  in  the  form  do  not  affect  the  substance  of  the 
truth  ?  Why  then  should  each  new  phase  of  truth  be  met 
with  the  same  old  folly  of  opposing  it?  Why  should  a 
theoretical  misconception,  as  foolish  as  the  child's  that 
takes  the  mask  for  the  man,  cause  all  those  mournful,  yet 
quixotic,  crusades  that  tend  to  persecution,  if  they  do 
not  end  in  martyrdom?  In  the  world  of  nature,  once 
at  least  in  every  year,  the  white  snows  melt  upon  the 
mountains ;  and  the  gleaming  ice  upon  the  streams  is 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE;    THE    TRUTH.         53 

heaved  up,  rent  apart,  and  swept  away.  Why,  now  and 
then,  should  not  like  changes  be  expected  in  the  world 
of  thought  ?  Why  should  not  men  anticipate  a  breaking 
up  and  disappearing  of  formal  aspects,  however  bright 
and  beautiful,  however  appropriate  and  satisfactory  they 
may  have  seemed  in  their  own  now  long  past  season  ?  But 
what  men  might  expect  and  should  expect,  they  will 
not  ;  and  when  these  changes  come, — alas  for  those  who 
base  their  confidence  on  forms  alone !  Like  men  who  pitch 
their  tents  upon  the  shifting  sands  of  a  flooding  stream, 
they  find  all  things  about  them  trembling,  crackling,  sink- 
ing ;  and  in  the  sudden  frenzy  of  bewilderment  it  often 
happens  that  the  very  voice  most  boastful  of  unwarranted 
credulity  becomes  most  blatant  of  an  equally  unwarranted 
despair.  "  Truth  is  a  form,"  says  one.  "  Forms  change. 
This  fact  is  patent.  Therefore  truth  must  change.  There 
can  be  no  enduring  ground  of  certainty ;  by  consequence, 
no  faith.  At  best,  the  truth  consists  merely  in  sincerity  to 
personal  conviction," — and,  arguing  thus,  he  ends  by  hav- 
ing no  convictions.  "  Truth,"  says  another,  "  is  immutable 
and  eternal ;  it  cannot  change,  and,  therefore,  forms  should 
not.  No  change  can  be  compatible  with  faith  whose  es- 
sence is  submission  to  external  standards.  Accordingly 
the  Church  must  hold  to  these  implicitly,  and,  if  it  have 
occasion,  must  enforce  them  by  the  exercise  of  its  author- 
ity,"— and,  arguing  thus,  he  ends  by  exercising,  as  if  in  its 
behalf,  his  own  authority  alone.  The  first  man  goes 
astray  because  he  has  perceived  an  operation  changing  the 
formula,  but,  while  perceiving  this,  has  failed  to  recognize 
that  in  the  method  of  the  operation  lies  the  truth  ;  the 
second  goes  astray  because  he  has  observed  a  method, 
but  has  looked  upon  a  single  aspect  of  it  as  a  mould 
to  which  all  future  aspects  are  to  be  conformed.  He  does 


54        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

not  view  it  as  only  the  outward  and  the  transient  phase 
of  that  which  in  its  inward  self  alone  is  enduring. 

But  he  who  apprehends  that  truth  involves  conformity 
to  a  method  of  operation,  and  that  the  truth  involves  con- 
formity to  one  eternal,  absolute  method,  need  not  fall  the 
prey  of  either  of  these  errors.  Merely  because  he  per- 
ceives nothing  but  the  changeable  in  formulae,  he  need 
not  imagine  that  there  is  no  permanent  truth  at  all  ex- 
pressed in  them,  nor  that,  by  consequence,  the  truth 
which  all  men  and  the  Bible  exalt,  and  for  which  he  him- 
self is  striving,  consists  in  mere  sincerity.  Sincerity  is  truth 
to  self, — a  true  expression  in  outward  speech  and  man- 
ner of  the  processes  of  thought,  feeling,  and  volition 
experienced  within.  But  a  life  in  accordance  with  the 
truth,  although  implying  this,  may  include  much  more. 
It  may  include  an  expression,  not  alone  in  outward  bear- 
ing, but  in  inward  life  as  well, — in  processes  of  thought, 
feeling,  or  volition,  whatever  they  may  be, — that  accords 
with  that  which  is  understood  by  the  term  the  absolute. 
So  far  alone  as  the  laws  of  the  absolute  are  "  written 
upon  one's  heart  "  is  sincerity  to  self  sufficient.  But 
otherwise,  if  one's  inward  life  do  not  accord  with  methods 
of  the  universe,  he  may  be  true  to  himself  and  yet  not  be 
true  to  the  methods  operating  through  all  time  and  in 
every  place. 

As  shown  on  page  43,  the  Apostle  to  the  Gentiles,  in 
order  to  prove  faith  the  attitude  of  soul  acceptable  to 
God,  felt  constrained  to  prove  that  this  was  that  through 
which  in  every  period  of  their  history  the  Israelites 
had  been  saved.1  And  is  there  any  one  who  fails  to  rec- 

1  Rom.  i.,  17,  quoting  from  Hab.  ii.,  4,  "The  just  shall  live  by  faith." 
Rom.  iv.,  3,  quoting  from  Gen.  xv.,  6,  "Abraham  believed  God,  and  it  was 
counted  unto  him  for  righteousness." 


THE   HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH.         55 

ognize  the  force  of  an  argument  which  shows  the  meth- 
ods of  one  system  of  religious  life  to  be  not  different  but 
similar  to  methods  which  have  been  recognized  in  part  in 
every  other  system  ?  However  this  may  be,  the  truth  of 
the  Biblical  religion, — what  is  it  except  conformity  to 
the  methods  of  life  equally  apparent  in  the  individual  ex- 
perience of  religious  men  both  before  and  after  the  com- 
ing of  the  Christ  ?  The  truth  of  natural  religion, — what 
is  it  but  conformity  to  the  methods  equally  apparent  in  the 
development  of  the  soul  and  of  the  forms  of  physical  life 
by  which  it  is  surrounded? 

He  who  recognizes  these  conceptions  can  be  a  friend 
both  to  progress  and  to  permanence.  He  can  argue,  on 
the  one  hand,  that  the  forms  of  truth  may  change,  and  he 
can  maintain,  upon  the  other,  that  the  methods  working 
underneath  these  forms  must  remain  the  same.  He  can 
perceive  the  shifting  of  the  scenery  upon  the  stage  of  life 
without  supposing  that  the  stage  itself  is  shifting.  He 
can  note  the  curtain  falling  without  imagining  that  it 
is  falling  upon  everything  that  he  can  treasure.  He  can 
cease  to  hear  the  murmurs  of  applause,  and  can  watch  the 
retiring  of  the  audience,  without  surmising  that  all  the 
joys  in  store  for  him  are  left  behind.  He  knows  that, 
though  he  may  no  longer  see  the  forms  or  listen  to  the 
words  that  represented  to  him  once  all  that  appeared  to 
be  the  truth,  this  does  not  indicate  that  the  truth  itself 
does  not  exist.  He  knows  that  while  forms  do  not  and 
cannot  last  forever,  the  methods  of  operation  whose 
phases  they  represent  may  and  must  endure ;  and  that  in 
them  can  endure  that  absolute  verity  to  which  all  men,  in 
every  act  of  faith,  acknowledge  their  allegiance. 

To  some,  conceptions  such  as  these  may  appear  too 
vague  and  insecure.  Their  minds  are  finite,  and  they 


56        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

crave  the  definite;  and  not  a  few  of  them  may  wish  to 
walk  by  knowledge,  not  by  faith.  Yet  others  are  not  so. 
To  them  the  suggestions  of  the  views  presented  here  will 
be  welcome  not  alone,  but  stimulating.  For  so  far  as  the 
absolute  truth  is  conceived  to  be  conformity  to  a  single 
method  operating  everywhere,  so  far  it  will  appear  not 
speculative  but  logical  to  infer  that  for  a  man  to  know 
with  thoroughness  a  single  mind  and  a  single  world  may 
be  the  same,  in  kind  though  not  in  degree,  as  to  know  the 
mind  of  God  and  all  the  universe ;  and  this  not  in  a  pan- 
theistic or  materialistic  sense,  but  in  a  spiritual  sense, 
inasmuch  as  God  reveals  his  character  in  each  as  well  as 
in  all ;  inasmuch  as  his  Jaws  are  the  laws  of  one  whose 
wisdom  is  so  absolute  that  his  wise  methods  need  no 
alteration. 

To  know  one  mind  may  be  the  same  in  kind  as  to 
know  God !  Is  not  this  a  conception  almost  radiant  with 
suggestions?  Was  it  not  thus  that  Jesus,  the  man,  could 
be  for  us  the  image  of  the  invisible  God,  the  expression 
of  his  character,  and  hence  the  truth  ?  But  the  Christ 
was  said  to  be  an  elder  brother — the  first-born  of  many 
brethren.  Had  he — has  he — brethren?  Then  others 
besides  the  Christ  can  represent  the  Godhead/  If  so, 
when  can  they  do  this  ?  It  must  be  when  they  live  ac- 
cording to  the  truth,  and  when  also  they  feel  impelled  to 
express  to  us  with  truth  the  thoughts  and  feelings  actu- 
ating them.  But  in  what  .circumstances  do  they  feel  im- 
pelled to  this  ?  Is  any  mortal  really  frank  except  among 
his  friends?  Is  he  truthful,  save  so  far  as  he  is  loving? 
Perfect  love  alone  casts  out  the  fear  that  causes  diffidence. 
It  alone  prompts  one  to  surrender  wilfulness  to  spon- 
taneity. It  alone  enables  him  to  dare  to  open  all  his  heart 
to  one  who  listens  at  his  side.  But  ordinary  men  can  live 


THE  HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE  •    THE    TRUTH.         57 

the  truth  at  only  intervals,  or  express  it  to  only  a  single 
soul.  The  Christ  claimed  to  be  the  truth  at  all  times 
and  to  every  one.  If  his  claim  were  justified,  he  must 
have  loved  all.  In  other  words,  when  he  declared,  "  I 
am  the  truth,"  he  gave  the  profoundest  expression  of 
his  love.  He  could  not  have  been  the  one  save  as  he 
had  the  other.  So  to  thoughtful  minds  the  simplest  fact 
of  his  history  is  equally  significant  with  that  to  which  the 
Church  has  chiefly  called  attention  ;  only  men  are  gross, 
and  need  the  physical,  material  expression. 

Yet  again,  it  has  been  shown  that  truth  is  possessed  in 
the  degree  alone  in  which  it  is  lived,  experienced.  The 
love,  accordingly,  which  causes  others  to  be  frank  is  ef- 
ficient in  imparting  truth  to  us  in  the  degree  alone  in 
which  it  affects  ourselves.  Thus  do  the  laws  of  the  mind 
necessitate  the  methods  of  Christianity.  Christ  was  the 
truth,  but  only  those  who  are  "  of  the  truth  hear "  his 
"  voice  "  (John  xviii.,  37).  Only  those  who  do  the  Father's 
will  can  "  know  of  the  doctrine  "  (John  vii.,  17).  Our  friend 
may  open  to  our  view  the  workings  of  his  heart ;  but  it 
is  friendship,  love,  awakened  in  ourselves  in  view  of  that 
which  he  reveals,  which  measures  our  appreciation  and 
appropriation  of  his  experience.  Not  so  much,  then,  the 
one  that  merely  is  loved  knows  of  the  godlike  in  a  man, 
and  hence  of  God ;  but  "  every  one  that  loveth 
knoweth  God  "  (i  John  iv.,  7). 

And  who  can  say  that  he  has  never  had  a  friendship,  a 
merely  human  friendship  too,  in  which  there  were  experi- 
ences akin  to  this ;  from  which  there  were  emitted  sanc- 
tifying influences  like  those  which  might  accompany 
the  revelations  of  a  God?  Those  happy  faces  that  still 
flit  before  us  whenever  we  recall  the  fresher  days  of 
youth ;  those  friends  who  met  us  in  the  years  when  our 


58         REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

whole  souls  were  yearning  for  the  knowledge  of  the  god- 
like ;  those  who  held  to  our  ideals  so  bright  a  love 
that  we  could  never  keep  our  thoughts  from  it ;  those 
in  the  sunshine  of  whose  smiles  truth,  that  no  longer 
felt  the  wintry  influence  of  frigid  frowns,  broke  into  buds 
upon  our  lips  and  flowered  all  round  them  in  our  blushes, 
— were  they  not  the  dearest  messengers  to  teach  our  souls 
of  God?  "  Every  one  that  loveth  .  .  .  knoweth  God." 
And  was  not  this — the  knowledge  of  God's  self — the  fond 
possession  that  made  our  blood  so  thrill  in  all  our  pulses, 
that  made  our  souls  tremble  as  if  in  ecstasy  to  shake  off 
the  robes  of  matter,  nay,  that  made  this  old  earth  here 
itself  a  heaven  ?  If  we  knew  God,  indeed,  what  further 
blessing  could  existence  furnish  us?  And  would  not 
all  the  blessedness  of  such  a  state  be  owing  to  a  mood 
which  friendship  had  developed  in  us?  "  Every  one  that 
loveth  .  .  .  knoweth  God." 

There  certainly  is  comfort  to  an  earnest  mind  in  con- 
ceiving that  the  truth,  with  all  its  infinite  essence,  may 
be  learned  through  knowledge  of  some  single  phase 
of  it ;  that  a  single  world  may  teach  us  of  the  universe, 
a  single  man,  of  God ;  that  we  may  find,  though  not  in 
an  exclusive  sense,  our  heaven  in  our  household,  and 
our  God  himself  in  every  friend — in  the  least  of  all  his 
children  who  is  hungry  and  is  fed  by  us,  and  is  thirsty 
and  is  given  drink  by  us  (Matt,  xxv.,  35—40). 

The  range  of  truth,  however,  by  considerations  such 
as  these,  is  simplified,  not  only  in  the  realms  of  space,  but 
also  in  the  realms  of  time.  The  experiences  of  life  are 
granted  us  that  we  may  learn  the  truth  through  them. 
How  long  must  life  be,  ere  we  shall  have  learned  it 
thoroughly?  The  insect  that  can  flutter  through  its  brief 
existence  in  a  day  can  experience  birth  and  growth 


THE   HIGHEST  SIGNIFICANCE:    THE    TRUTH.         59 

and  death  as  truly  as  the  mastodon.  A  few  words  or 
a  few  deeds  may  reveal  to  us  the  character  of  friends. 
Through  them  we  may  learn  their  methods  of  believing, 
feeling,  doing;  through  them  we  may  learn  the  truth 
concerning  them.  A  few  words  from  the  book  of  revela- 
tion, a  few  evolutions  in  the  works  of  nature, — why  may 
they  not  reveal  to  us,  with  equal  certainty,  the  character 
of  Him  who  is  the  eternal,  the  infinite,  and  the  absolute? 
When  the  Christ  declared  that  every  one  of  the  truth 
would  hear  his  voice,  whom  did  he  mean  to  mention  ? 
Only  souls  that  could  speak  wisely  of  a  long  experience? 
Only  the  men  whose  feeble  feet  had  travelled  through 
the  whole  hard  path  of  life,  whose  limbs  were  tottering 
on  the  borders  of  a  grave  from  which,  perhaps,  they 
shrank  in  fear  of  an  offended  Deity?  Did  he  not  mean 
the  little  children  also,  who,  perhaps,  could  not  articulate 
a  sound,  whose  limbs  were  tottering  too,  but  not  from 
heaviness,  and  who  shrank  too,  but  not  from  that  sweet 
face  which  had  gazed  upon  them  through  harsh  crowds 
that  would  have  kept  them  back  from  him  ?  The  eter- 
nal, the  infinite,  and  the  absolute  truth, — think  not  that  a 
mortal's  share  of  it  can  be  measured  in  the  scales  of  time 
or  space.  "  One  day  is  with  the  Lord  as  a  thousand 
years"  (2  Pet.  iii.,  8).  The  soul  of  a  little  child  that  dies 
is  riper  than  we  think,  perhaps.  Some  of  the  smallest  in 
the  .graveyards  have  lived  the  truth  in  a  deeper  sense 
than  those  whom  men  call  great.  Are  any  of  us  certain 
that  it  would  have  been  worse  for  us  had  we  died  early? 
Is  there  not  much  promise  in  a  promise  of  perpetual 
youth  ?  Are  not  the  cherub  faces  crowded  on  the  can- 
vas of  the  artist  a  vague  prophecy  of  some  superior  joy- 
ousness  and  beauty  in  the  children  who  go  forth  to  live 
as  children  evermore  within  the  realms  of  spirit?  How 


60        REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

is  it  with  mortals  when  they  linger  longer  here?  Let 
withering  lips  and  deathlike  countenances  tell.  We  have 
our  good  things — Heaven  forgive  us  that  we  call  them 
good  ! — on  earth.  And  is  this  wretched  and  distorted  lie 
into  which  the  earth  has  shaped  so  many  of  us,  to  speak 
and  do  and  be  ourselves  forever?  And  if  we  be  not 
satisfied  with  what  this  world  can  make  of  us,  if  we  rebel 
against  it,  what  comes  then  ?  To  the  Christ,  who  spake, 
and  did,  and  was  the  truth,  the  world  cried,  "  Crucify 
him !  crucify  him  ! "  It  is  so  with  many  still.  For 
them  to  speak  the  truth  is  death  to  influence,  to  do 
the  truth  is  death  to  position,  and  to  be  the  truth, — this 
is  to  complete  the  aim  of  life.  It  is  to  be  sacrificed, 
to  die,  and  to  live  in  spirit  only.  Yet  this  fate  may 
not  be  without  its  compensations.  In  the  last  address 
of  the  Christ  to  his  disciples — the  same  in  which  he 
prophesied  his  coming  crucifixion — he  also  said,  "These 
things  have  I  spoken  unto  you,  that  my  joy  might 
remain  in  you,  and  that  your  joy  might  be  full"  (John 

XV.,    II). 


CHAPTER  V. 

SIGNIFICANCE,    RELIGIOUS,    SCIENTIFIC,     AND     ARTISTIC,. 

AS    RESPECTIVELY   ATTRIBUTABLE    TO    MENTAL 

ACTION,  PREDOMINANTLY   SUBCONSCIOUS, 

CONSCIOUS,   AND    BLENDED. 

Results  Reached  in  the  Foregoing  Chapters — Mental  and  Material  Condi- 
tions Preceding  the  Recognition  of  Truth — Religious,  Scientific,  and 
Artistic  Conceptions — How  they  Differ — Religious  or  Spiritual  Mean- 
ing— The  Occult  Side  of  the  Mind — Proof  of  Subconscious  Intel- 
lection in  Memory,  Fright,  Fever — Hypnotism — Its  Effects  Allied  to 
.  those  of  Art — Germs  of  Hypnotic  Suggestion — Subconscious  Philosoph- 
ical and  Mathematical  Intellection — Resulting  from  Previous  Conscious 
Action  as  in  Skill — Not  Resulting  from  Previous  Conscious  Action  :  Co- 
burn,  Mozart,  Blind  Tom — Subconscious  Diagnosis  of  Disease  at  a  Dis- 
tance— Subconscious  Apprehension  of  Distant  Occurrences — Both  in 
Space  and  in  Time — Mind-Reading  and  Mediumship — Automatic 
Writing — The  Truth  and  the  Limitations  of  Spiritualism — Hudson's 
Theory — The  Investigation  of  the  Subject  Justifiable. 

TN  all  the  methods  indicated  in  Chapters  III.  and  IV. 
of  ascertaining,  characterizing,  and  expressing  the 
truth,  we  have  been  considering  the  relations  between 
form  and  significance.  But,  as  stated  in  Chapter  I.,  this 
is  precisely  the  question  involved  in  the  study  of  art. 
The  transition  in  this  chapter,  therefore,  from  the  general 
to  the  special  applications  of  our  subject  is  strictly  logical. 
But  before  making  this  transition  complete,  and  confining 
our  attention  to  art  alone,  let  us  notice,  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  clearly  in  mind  what  is  meant  by  artistic  truth, 

61 


62         REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

certain  other  phases  of  truth  with  which  it  is  sometimes 
confounded  and  from  which,  for  this  reason,  it  needs  to  be 
separated. 

The  conclusion  reached  in  Chapter  IV.,  so  far  as  it  applies 
to  significance  in  general,  was  that  we  fail  to  understand 
all  that  is  meant  by  the  truth  embodied  in  a  form,  whether 
,of  substance  or  of  statement,  unless  we  take  into  consid- 
eration certain  circumstances  or  conditions  with  which  the 
form  is  really  or  ideally  connected  as  one  link  in  a  chain 
of  causes  and  effects — in  other  words,  unless  we  observe 
the  relations  of  the  form  to  some  method  of  operation. 
This  conclusion  at  once  suggests  the  question  how  far  the 
links  in  the  chain  of  causes  and  effects  with  which  the 
form  is  connected  are  apprehensible  ;  and  if,  in  answer  to 
this,  we  find  that,  in  some  cases,  they  are  apprehensible 
only  implicitly,  because  mainly  mental  and  therefore  in- 
audible or  invisible  ;  and,  in  other  cases,  very  explicitly, 
because  mainly  material  and  therefore  audible  or  visible, 
we  cannot  refrain  from  inferring  that  the  significance,  in 
each  case,  because  differently  derived,  must  be  somewhat 
differently  characterized  and  expressed.  Moreover,  if  we 
find  that  artistic  significance,  which  in  particular  we  are 
now  to  consider,  includes  that  which  is  apprehended  both 
implicitly  and  explicitly,  it  will  follow  that,  in  order  to 
understand  all  about  this  significance,  we  must  study  the 
results  of  apprehension  according  to  each  of  these  two 
methods. 

The  conditions  thus  suggested  as  possible  will  be  shown 
presently  to  be  actual.  This  fact  explains  the  necessity 
of  our  making  distinctions  here  between  religious,  scien- 
tific, and  artistic  significance.  Every  one  admits  that  re- 
ligion is  concerned  fundamentally  with  that  which  is 
supposed  to  be  spiritual,  with  that  which  has  to  do  with 


RELIGIOUS,  SCIENTIFIC,  AND   ARTISTIC.  63 

ideas  and  emotions  pertaining  to  the  mind  and  soul ;  that 
science  is  concerned  fundamentally  with  that  which  is 
material,  with  that  which  has  to  do  with  phenomena  and 
series  of  phenomena  pertaining  to  the  external  natural 
world  ;  whereas  art,  being  concerned  with  that  which  is 
human,  can  exclude  from  consideration  neither  the  spiri- 
tual nor  the  material,  but  must  include  both,  having  to  dor 
on  the  one  hand,  with  thoughts  and  emotions  which  be- 
long to  the  realm  of  that  which  cannot  be  handled,  heard, 
or  seen,  and,  on  the  other,  with  natural  phenomena  which 
belong  to  the  realm  of  that  which  can  be.  It  is  evident, 
therefore,  that,  to  understand  art,  we  must  first  understand 
something  about  each  of  the  two  spheres— that  of  religion 
and  that  of  science — upon  which  art  encroaches  and 
whose  effects  it  combines. 

It  will  be  recognized,  moreover,  that  of  the  three — 
religion,  science,  and  art — religion  is  the  most  nearly  allied 
to  the  infinite,  the  eternal,  and  the  absolute,  which  were 
considered  in  Chapter  II.,  and  therefore  is  that  which  we 
should  naturally  take  up  here  first  in  order.  This  we 
shall  do,  applying  the  various  ideas  that  are  to  be  un- 
folded in  the  next  few  chapters  to  significance,  first,  in 
religion,  after  that  in  science,  and  finally  in  art.  As 
a  result,  we  shall  find  each  phase  of  significance  giving 
rise  to  what — because  we  lack  a  better  word — we  may 
term  conceptions  that  are  differently  derived,  charac- 
terized, and  expressed.  We  shall  find  that  they  are 
derived,  though  not  necessarily  entirely  developed,  in 
religion,  from  what  is  termed  the  inner  world,  through 
the  method  known  as  inspiration ;  in  science,  from  the 
outer  world,  through  investigation;  and  in  art,  partly 
from  the  inner  world  and  partly  from  the  outer,  which 
two  are  correlated  in  thought  through  imagination. 


64         REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

Again,  we  shall  find  that  the  conceptions  are  characterized 
in  religion  by  faith,  in  science  by  knowledge,  and  in  art  by 
a  combination  of  elements  entering  some  into  faith  and 
some  into  knowledge,  resulting  in  ideality ;  and  finally, 
that  the  conceptions  are  expressed  in  religion  through 
spiritually  influential  suggestion  ;  in  science  through  logical 
formulation  ;  and  in  art  through  a  combination  of  certain 
elements  entering  some  into  suggestion  and  some  into  for- 
mulation, resulting  in  analogical  representation.  These 
statements  will  enable  the  reader  to  understand  the  drift 
of  the  next  few  chapters,  as  otherwise  might  not  be  pos- 
sible, owing  to  the  many  ideas  which  must  be  followed 
up  in  order  to  treat  the  subject  in  all  its  bearings. 

The  line  of  thought  unfolded  in  Chapters  I.  and  II. 
has  prepared  us  to  recognize  that  what  we  mean  by  sig- 
nificance is  a  subjective  mental  experience  attributable 
to  some  objective  excitation.  Religious  significance  may 
be  said  to  be  an  experience  of  this  kind  which  is  due  to 
spiritual  excitation ;  or  which,  in  connection  with  any 
form  of  excitation,  conveys  a  spiritual  import.  But  what 
is  spiritual  import  ?  It  is  something  that  is  acknowledged 
to  exist,  not  only  by  Christians,  but  by  Mohammedans, 
Mormons,  Buddhists,  Hindoos,  and,  in  fact,  by  all  who 
admit  that  there  are  any  distinctively  occult  sources  of 
truth.  It  is  something  that  is  believed  to  be  conveyed 
from  a  region  which  for  all  men  during  most  of  the  time, 
and  for  most  men  during  all  the  time,  is  entirely  hidden 
from  consciousness.  It  is  believed  that  from  this  region, 
in  certain  circumstances,  vague  emotions  and  thoughts  not 
only,  but  definite  facts  and  words,  can  come  to  the  mind. 
But  if  this  region  exist,  there  must  be  characteristics  con- 
necting the  mind  with  influences  coming  from  it,  charac- 
teristics rendering  possible  thoughts  and  emotions  affected 


CONSCIOUS  AND   SUBCONSCIOUS  INTELLECTION,      65 

not  only  in  a  normal  way,  as  through  the  eyes  or  ears  or 
any  other  senses,  but  also  in  a  way  that  may  be  termed 
supernormal,  and  is  sometimes  termed  supernatural. 

If  there  be  such  characteristics  of  mind,  we  can  account, 
philosophically,  for  religious  and,  so  far  as  allied  to  re- 
ligious, for  artistic  inspiration,  as  it  is  termed.  Otherwise, 
we  cannot.  Are  there  such  characteristics  ?  There  cer- 
tainly are.  There  is  a  hidden,  occult  sphere  of  the  mind, 
of  the  operations  of  which  we  are  ordinarily  unconscious, 
and  of  the  results  of  which  we  know  only  so  far  as  they  influ- 
ence another  sphere  of  which  we  are  ordinarily  conscious. 
So  different,  in  fact,  are  the  operations  in  these  two 
spheres,  often  engaged,  as  we  shall  find,  in  carrying  on  at 
the  same  time  two  different  processes  of  thought  (see 
page  71),  that  they  have  been  termed — though,  of  course, 
not  with  scientific  exactness,  as  the  reader  will  under- 
stand whenever  suggestions  of  this  are  made  hereafter — 
two  minds,  namely,  the  conscious  and  the  subconscious, 
which  latter  term  is  used  to  indicate  a  mind  of  some  of 
the  results  of  which  we  are  conscious,  but  of  the  pro- 
cesses of  which  we  are  unconscious.  It  is  noteworthy, 
too,  that,  even  in  the  physical  frame,  there  are  indications 
of  the  presence  and  work  of  both  these  minds.  Not  only 
are  there  two  separate  lobes  in  the  brain,  each  apparently 
containing  a  complete  set  of  mental  organs,  but  there  are 
two  systems  of  nerves  connecting  the  brain  with  the  rest 
of  the  body.  It  has  not  been  proved  that,  of  the  two 
brains,  one  is  the  seat  of  conscious  and  the  other  of  sub- 
conscious action  ;  but  this  has  been  proved  of  the  two 
sets  of  nerves.  Those  of  the  cerebrospinal  system,  which 
move  the  hands,  limbs,  and  the  facial  and  vocal  organs, 
are  controlled  by  conscious  action  ;  those  of  the  sympa- 
thetic system,  which  move  the  circulatory  and  digestive 


66        REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

organs,  are  controlled  by  subconscious  action.  To  com- 
plete the  correspondence,  as  preparatory  to  observing  the 
way  in  which  the  conscious  and  the  subconscious  minds 
often  work  conjointly,  it  is  well  to  notice,  also,  that  there 
are  certain  movements,  like  winking  and  breathing,  which 
can  be  carried  on  both  consciously  and  subconsciously. 

In  considering  these  two  spheres  of  mental  activity 
and  the  relations  between  them,  it  is  unnecessary  to  dwell 
upon  the  sphere  of  which  we  are  conscious.  But  it  is  im- 
portant, for  a  proper  realization  of  all  the  bearings  of  the 
two  forms  of  intellection  and  of  the  harmonizing  of  them 
in  art,  to  develop,  for  a  little,  certain  facts  and  inferences 
with  reference  to  the  subconscious  sphere.  The  facts 
with  which  we  are  most  familiar  are  afforded,  perhaps,  by 
memory.  The  mind  is  constantly  recalling  experiences 
of  which  it  has  been  so  thoroughly  oblivious  that  they 
have  been  supposed  to  have  been  lost.  But  equally  con- 
clusive evidences  of  the  same  subconscious  possibility  may 
be  furnished  by  other  mental  processes.  When  trains  of 
thought  are  conducting  to  conclusions  with  the  rapidity 
of  lightning,  what  is  the  mind  doing  but  making  use  of 
stores  not  only,  but  of  methods  that  are  not  outside  of  it 
but  in  it,  and  yet  are  hidden  so  deeply  in  it  as  to  be  be- 
yond the  reach  of  any  conscious  control  ?  In  normal 
mental  action  we  are  only  partly  aware  of  the  extent 
and  importance  of  these  stores,  and  may  be  startled 
to  hear  it  stated  that,  probably,  nothing  whatever  that  a 
man  has  ever  seen,  heard,  touched,  tasted,  smelled,  or,  by 
the  slightest  practice,  developed  into  the  suggestion  of  a 
habit,  is  lost,  but  remains  indelibly  impressed  upon  the 
intellect  and  character.  Nevertheless  such  seems  to  be 
the  case.  Captain  Frederick  Marryat,  author  of  "  The  Ad- 
ventures of  a  Naval  Officer,"  relates  that  at  one  time  he 


HYPNOTISM.  67 

jumped  into  the  sea  to  save  a  sailor's  life,  and,  on  rising, 
found  himself  in  the  midst  of  blood,  giving  evidence  of 
the  presence  of  a  shark.  Between  that  moment  and  the 
moment  almost  immediately  following,  when  he  was 
rescued,  he  re-experienced,  according  to  his  story,  about 
everything  that  he  had  ever  done  or  said  or  thought. 
Coleridge  states,  in  his  "  Biographia  Literaria,"  that  in  a 
German  village  near  Gottingen  a  young  woman,  twenty-five 
years  of  age,  who  could  neither  read  nor  write,  was  seized 
with  a  fever.  While  in  this  state  she  kept  constantly 
repeating  Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew.  The  Roman  Catho- 
lic priest  of  the  village  declared  her  to  be  possessed  of 
a  devil.  But  her  physician,  being  of  a  scientific  turn, 
traced  back  her  history.  He  found  that  she  had  once 
been  a  servant  in  the  house  of  a  Protestant  pastor.  This 
man  had  been  in  the  habit,  while  walking  up  and  down 
in  a  passage  into  which  the  kitchen  opened,  of  reading  in 
a  loud  voice  Latin,  Greek,  and  rabbinical  Hebrew.  Many 
of  the  very  phrases,  which  the  physician  had  taken  down 
in  writing  at  her  bedside,  were  found  in  the  rabbinical 
books  in  this  man's  library. 

Results  analogous  to  these, — occasioned,  as  will  be 
noticed,  in  the  one  case  by  fright  and  in  the  other  by 
fever, — may  be  produced  by  hypnotism.  That  hypnotism 
exists  as  a  fact  no  one  informed  with  reference  to  the 
subject  now  thinks  of  denying.  An  influence  that  can 
cause  a  patient  to  have  a  tooth  pulled  or  a  limb  ampu- 
tated without  experiencing  conscious  pain  is  a  reality. 
An  influence,  not  induced  by  another,  but  self-induced 
by  nervous  excitement,  which  can  cause  our  Southern 
negroes  to  fall  down  as  if  dead  in  revival  meetings,  and 
fail  to  feel  pins  vigorously  stuck  into  them,  as  the  author 
has  seen  the  experiment  tried,  is  a  reality.  This  much 


68         REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

being  conceded  to  hypnotic  influence,  as  several  refer- 
ences must  be  made  to  it  hereafter,  it  is  well,  at  the 
outset,  to  say  that  there  is  every  reason  for  supposing 
that  the  immediate  effect  of  this  influence,  like  that  of 
fright  and  of  fever,  is  physical,  and  not,  as  is  sometimes 
supposed,  mental.  It  may  be  described  as  a  method  of 
putting  the  conscious  body  and,  through  it,  the  conscious 
mind  to  sleep.  When  this  has  been  done,  the  subcon- 
scious mind  may  be  made  to  wake  up,  and  to  take  charge 
of  the  body's  organs  of  expression.  But  there  is  no 
proof  that  hypnotism  does  any  more  than  furnish  an 
opportunityr  availing  itself  of  which  the  subconscious 
mind  can  exercise  its  influence  in  a  way  normal  to  itself, 
yet  not  ordinarily  observed  because  hidden  behind  the 
activities  of  the  conscious  mind. 

It  is  well  to  notice,  too,  that  hypnotism,  involving  as  it 
does  a  kind  of  skill  which  may  be  acquired,  partakes  of 
the  nature  not  of  religion  but  of  art  (see  Chapter  XV.). 
Formerly,  and  in  some  cases  to-day,  the  hypnotizer  caused 
a  disk  to  revolve  before  the  eyes  of  his  subject  or  made 
passes  before  them  with  his  hands.  But  now  many  ex- 
perts, especially  if  dealing  with  one  who  has  often  been 
subjected  to  their  influence,  can  induce  the  state  by  a 
single  glance  or  word.  In  the  former  case,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  the  physical  result  is  artificially  produced 
by  a  series  of  regularly  recurring  effects;  and  even  in 
the  latter  case  we  can  see  how  this  may  be  true,  inas- 
much as  it  would  be  in  accordance  with  what  we  know 
of  the  vibratory  nature  of  nervous  excitation.  But 
notice,  now,  that  in  any  series  of  regularly  recurring 
effects,  we  have  an  analogy  to  the  effects  produced  in  art 
by  rhythm  and  proportion  ;  and  not  only  to  these,  but,  as 
science  has  shown,  to  the  effects  produced  by  all  sounds 


THE  HYPNOTIC  IN  ART,  69 

and  colors  when  they  are  aesthetically  pleasing  in  them- 
selves, or  when  they  are  blended  with  others  so  as  to 
form  harmony.  (See  Chapters  XII.  and  XIII.  of  "Art 
in  Theory,"  also  the  parts  treating  of  this  subject  in 
"  Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music/' .and  in 
"  Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color.")  In  con- 
nection with  such  series  of  regularly  recurring  physical 
effects,  which  are  characteristic  of  all  classes  of  art-forms, 
these  forms  are  supposed  to  suggest  significance.  But  it 
is  in  connection  with  just  such  series  of  regularly  recurring 
physical  effects  that  hypnotism  is  sometimes  induced. 
Moreover,  whether  induced  thus  or  not,  the  influence 
over  thought  and  emotion  exerted  in  connection  with 
hypnotism  is  invariably  exerted .  over  the  subconscious 
mind  and  is  also  a  result,  as  we  shall  find  by-and-by,  of 
suggestion.  Now,  as  applied  to  art,  we  are  trying  to  find 
that  in  the  mind  which  develops  the  significance  which. is 
suggested  through  forms.  Is  it  not  logical  to  find  it  in 
this  subconscious  region,  in  which  hypnotism  proves  that 
suggestions  are,  in  all  cases,  naturally  developed,  and  are 
in  some,  if  not  in  all  cases,  developed  in  connection  with 
regularly  recurring  physical  effects  influencing  the  con- 
scious mind  in  a  way  exactly  analogous  to  the  effects 
produced  by  the  forms  of  arts. 

The  germs  of  thought  from  which  the  conceptions  of 
the  hypnotic  patient  are  developed  are  often  very  ele- 
mentary in  character.  Subjects  possessing  no  oratorical 
gifts,  for  instance,  are  told  to  personate  some  famous 
public  speaker,  and  at  once  they  set  out,  and,  with  appar- 
ent ease,  deliver  addresses  closely  resembling  not  only  in 
phraseology  but  in  method  some  speech  of  this  man 
which  they  have  previously  heard  or  read,  though  only  in 
an  extremely  superficial  and  heedless  way.  The  author 


70        REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

knows  of  a  reasonably  authenticated  instance,  being  per- 
sonally acquainted  with  all  the  parties  concerned,  in 
which — though  in  the  presence,  indeed,  of  one  who  knew 
the  Italian  language,  which  fact  may  have  influenced  the 
result — a  man  who  knew  nothing  of  this  language,  when 
hypnotized  by  another,  who  also  knew  nothing  of  it,  was 
made  to  sing,  with  correct  Italian  words  and  pronuncia- 
tion, a  song  which  the  subject  had  heard  but  once  and 
this  years  before. 

This  subconscious  action  of  the  mind,  of  which  we  are 
speaking,  is  not  confined,  however,  to  memory.  If  it 
were,  its  results  could  all  be  allied  to  the  ordinary  phe- 
nomena of  recollection,  of  which  it  would  merely  be  an 
unusual  development.  Similar  action  is  evident  in  con- 
nection with  logical  and  mathematical  processes,  and 
even  with  those  involving  skill,  which  would  appear, 
at  first  thought,  especially  dependent  upon  conscious 
direction.  Von  Hartmann,  in  his  "  Philosophy  of  the 
Unconscious,"  as  translated  by  W.  C.  Coupland,  quotes 
this  passage  from  Jessen's  "  Psychology  "  :  "  When  we 
reflect  on  anything  with  the  whole  force  of  our  mind, 
we  may  fall  into  a  state  of  entire  unconsciousness,  in 
which  we  not  only  forget  the  outer  world,  but  also  know 
nothing  at  all  of  ourselves  and  the  thoughts  passing  within 
us.  After  a  shorter  or  longer  time,  we  then  suddenly 
awake  as  from  a  dream,  and  usually  at  the  same  moment 
the  result  of  our  meditation  appears  clearly  and  distinctly 
in  consciousness  without  our  knowing  how  we  have 
reached  it.  Also,  in  less  severe  meditation,  there  occur 
moments  in  which  a  perfect  vacancy  of  thought  is  com- 
bined with  a  consciousness  of  our  own  mental  effort,  to 
which,  in  the  next  moment,  a  more  vivid  stream  of 
thought  succeeds.  Certainly,  some  practice  is  required 


SUBCONSCIOUS  INTELLECTION.  J\ 

to  combine  serious  reflection  with  simultaneous  self-ob- 
servation, as  the  endeavor  to  observe  thoughts  in  their 
origin  and  their  succession  may  easily  produce  disturb- 
ances of  thinking  and  arrest  the  evolution  of  our  thoughts. 
Repeated  attempts,  however,  put  us  in  a  position  clearly 
to  perceive  that,  in  fact,  in  every  arduous  reflection,  a 
constant  inner  pulsation  or  a  constant  changing  ebb  and 
flow  of  thoughts,  as  it  were,  takes  place — a  moment  in 
which  all  thoughts  disappear  from  consciousness,  and 
only  the  consciousness  of  an  inner  mental  strain  remains, 
and  a  moment  in  which  the  thoughts  stream  in,  in  greater 
fulness,  and  distinctly  emerge  into  consciousness.  The 
lower  the  ebb,  the  stronger  the  succeeding  flood  is  wont  to 
be  ;  the  stronger  the  previous  inner  tension,  the  stronger 
and  livelier  the  contents  of  the  emerging  thoughts." 
Whether  or  not  the  reader  has  ever  been  able  to  detect 
these  two  processes  in  his  own  thinking,  he  will  at  least 
recognize  that  others  have  done  so ;  and  it  is  in  logical  ac- 
cordance with  the  inferences  derived  from  the  existence  of 
both  processes  that  certain  scholars  have  maintained  that 
by  fixing  their  attention,  in  the  evening  just  before  retir- 
ing for  the  night,  upon  some  subject, — whether  details  to 
be  committed  to  memory  or  problems  to  be  solved, — they 
could  find  their  work  very  much  furthered,  if  not  wholly 
completed,  in  the  morning.  It  is  said  that  the  astronomer 
Kepler  used  to  practise  upon  this  theory. 

The  fact  of  the  existence,  side  by  side  in  the  mind,  of 
action  both  subconscious  and  conscious,  is  much  more 
easy  to  prove  than  most  of  us  are  aware.  How  often 
have  we  heard  a  friend  unconsciously  hum,  or  even  sing 
aloud  in  perfect  time  and  tune,  a  song,  while  all  his  con- 
scious energies  were  directed  toward  the  accomplish- 
ment of  a  task  entirely  different  in  character  !  We  are  all 


72         REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

more  or  less  familiar  too  with  the  conditions  under  which 
a  conscious  action  or  series  of  actions  may  be  made  to 
become  unconscious.  Every  one  who  has  acquired  skill 
in  any  department  knows  that  it  is  a  result  of  practice 
continued  until  the  mind  has  become  enabled  to  superin- 
tend a  large  number  of  details  without  having  any  of 
them  clearly  in  consciousness.  Every  musician,  for  in- 
stance, is  aware  that  after  repeating  a  composition  on  the 
piano  the  execution  may  become  so  familiar  that  his 
fingers  will  play  it  automatically,  as  it  were,  while  his 
thoughts  are  very  intently  fixed  upon  something  else, 
possibly  upon  the  general  expression  of  the  piece,  possibly 
upon  something  having  nothing  to  do  with  music  in  any 
form. 

When  the  subconscious  action  of  the  mind  takes  place 
in  connection  with  logical,  mathematical,  or  rrfusical  pro- 
cesses which  a  man  has  learned  and  mastered,  we  may 
always  attribute  it,  as  we  do  recollection,  to  previous 
conscious  action.  But  there  are  cases  in  which  previous 
conscious  action  has  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  subcon- 
scious action.  In  these  we  begin  to  have  suggested  a 
difference,  which  will  be  brought  out  clearly  hereafter, 
between  religious  and  artistic  inspiration.  As  illustrating 
what  is  meant,  take  first  the  cases  of  lightning  calculators, 
as  they  are  termed — many  of  them  mere  children,  who 
have  hardly  mastered  reading  and  writing,  much  less 
arithmetic.  In  a  way  apparently  unknown  to  themselves, 
they  are  able  to  solve  the  most  intricate  mathematical 
problem  almost  as  rapidly  as  it  can  be  read  to  them. 
Zerah  Coburn  was  but  eight  years  old  when  exhibited 
before  audiences  of  the  foremost  mathematicians  of  his 
time.  Here,  according  to  the  English  "  Annual  Reg- 
ister "  of  1812,  are  two  of  the  questions  asked  him,  and 


COB  URN  AND  MOZART.  73 

answered  before  the  numbers  could  be  written  down  : 
"  What  is  the  square  root  of  106,929  ?  "  "  What  is  the 
cube  root  of  268,336,125  ?"  Or  take,  again,  the  cases  of 
musicians  able  to  execute  apparently  the  most  difficult 
compositions  without  having  gone  through  any  previous 
study  or  practice.  Mozart  was  only  three  years  old  when 
he  began  to  play  in  public  concerts,  and  when  onl)T  eight 
years  old  he  had  composed  a  symphony  for  a  full  or- 
chestra. He  was,  however,  the  son  of  a  musician,  and  his 
facility  might  be  attributed  to  some  extent  to  his  sur- 
roundings or  to  heredity.  But  neither  of  these  reasons 
can  in  any  way  account  for  the  performances  of  others. 
There  was,  for  instance,  in  our  own  country,  Blind  Tom, 
as  he  was  called.  He  was  an  exceptionally  ignorant 
negro,  yet  he  could  remember  and  execute,  apparently, 
anything  that  was  played  but  once  before  him,  sometimes 
with  variations,  too,  as  successful  as  the  average  of  those 
resulting  from  long  hours  of  labor  on  the  part  of  educated 
musicians. 

In  these  cases,  the  ultimate  results  of  subconscious 
action  are  not  essentially  different  from  what  might  be 
expected  if  the  facility  were  acquired  through  practice 
directed  by  conscious  effort.  It  is  possible  to  conceive 
of  thoroughly  educated  mathematicians  and  musicians 
who,  after  long  experience,  might  produce  effects  exactly 
similar  to  those  that  have  just  been  mentioned.  We  can 
only  say  of  these  latter  effects  that  in  them  the  subcon- 
scious facility  was  not  acquired  through  conscious  effort 
as  a  fact.  But  now,  going  a  step  farther,  we  shall  find  that 
there  are  cases  in  which  it  could  not  have  been  acquired 
thus  as  a  possibility.  We  shall  find  that  the  subcon- 
scious mind  is  sometimes  influenced  by  conditions  or 
occurrences  with  which  it  could  not  have  become 


74        REPRESENTA  TIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

acquainted  through  the  eyes  or  ears,  or  by  any  method 
through  which  the  conscious  mind  obtains  or  develops 
knowledge  or  thought.  The  following  is  an  illustration 
of  such  a  case:  Some  years  ago,  my  friend,  Professor 
John  W.  Churchill  of  Andover  Theological  Seminary,  in 
order  to  try  an  experiment,  took  the  names  and  addresses 
of  two  persons  in  Boston,  of  whom  he  knew  nothing,  ex- 
cept that  they  were  patients  of  a  physician  of  his  acquaint- 
ance. With  these  addresses  in  his  possession  he  called 
upon  a  certain  Dr.  Tucker,  residing  in  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 
This  physician,  a  graduate  of  the  Harvard  Medical 
School,  claimed  to  have  discovered  in  himself,  soon  after 
beginning  to  practise,  a  peculiar  supernormal  gift.  My 
friend  wished  to  test  it.  "  Can  you  prescribe,"  he  asked, 
"  for  a  person  now  in  Boston?  "  "  I  think  so,"  said  the 
physician.  "Have  you  his  address?"  My  friend  read 
one  of  the  addresses  that  he  had  brought.  "  I  will  go," 
said  the  physician,  "  and  see  the  patient."  Then,  placing 
his  hand  on  his  brow,  he  began  to  talk  something  like 
this:  "Number — ,  Blank  Street.  Yes,  I  see — red  brick 
house — two  storeys — bay  window  on  the  first  floor.  I 
enter — a  winding  stairway.  The  patient  is  in  the  second- 
storey  front  room — a  lady — blonde — blue  eyes — rather 
stout — about  thirty-five  years  old — is  troubled,"  etc.,  de- 
scribing her  symptoms  and  ending  with  a  diagnosis  and 
prescription.  After  attending  to  this  patient,  the  physi- 
cian went  through  a  similar  process  with  reference  to  the 
other.  My  friend  handed  a  copy  of  what  had  been  said, 
as  taken  down  by  the  Brooklyn  physician's  stenographer, 
to  the  physician  in  Boston.  "  Everything  here,"  said  this 
physician,  "  is  as  accurate  as  it  would  be  if  the  one  who 
dictated  it  had  come  here  by  rail,  visited  the  houses,  and 
heard  the  patients  describe  their  own  symptoms."  In 


OCCULT  PERCEPTION  OF   THE   DISTANT.  75 

olden  times — possibly  in  some  places  in  our  own  time — a 
physician  whose  mind  could  act  in  this  way  would  be 
considered  to  be  under  the  influence  of  divine  inspiration. 
But  Dr.  Tucker  is  clearly  not  so.  The  ability  to  work 
" signs  and  wonders"  of  this  kind  does  not  necessarily 
guarantee  the  truth  of  the  words  uttered  by  the  workers 
of  them.  The  author  knows  of  at  least  one  patient — a 
son  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  J.  M.  Ludlow,  of  Orange,  N.  J. — with 
reference  to  whom  the  subconscious  diagnosis  of  this 
physician,  though  agreeing  with  that  of  other  eminent 
physicians  consulted,  was  shown  by  a  post-mortem  ex- 
amination to  have  been  unmistakably  erroneous.  Yet  a 
previous  description,  supernormally  given,  of  the  symp- 
toms and  appearance  of  the  patient  had  been  as  accurate 
as  in  the  cases  mentioned  above. 

In  these  cases  the  conscious  mind  seems  to  have  been 
able  to  direct  the  course  of  the  subconscious  mind, 
causing  it,  apparently,  to  move  from  Brooklyn  to  Bos- 
ton. Here  is  another  case  in  which  no  such  control  was 
exercised.  Yet  the  conditions  at  a  distance  were  just 
as  accurately  perceived.  Notice,  too,  how  thoroughly 
the  circumstances  justify  such  a  use  as  is  made  in 
"  Macbeth  "  of  the  appearance  of  Banquo's  ghost.  The 
story  was  related  to  the  author  by  an  eye-witness, 
General  Karge,  a  gallant  officer  in  our  war  of  secession, 
and,  for  twenty  years  or  more,  a  professor  in  Princeton 
College.  He  gave  it  as  one  of  other  reasons  leading 
to  an  abandonment,  on  his  part,  of  wholly  material- 
istic views  of  life,  into  which  he  had  fallen  in  early  man- 
hood. He  said  that  during  the  war  of  secession,  while 
recruiting  in  New  York  City  for  the  cavalry,  he  was  on 
Fourteenth  Street  opposite  the  Academy  of  Music,  tak- 
ing supper  in  the  rooms  of  an  Austrian  military  engineer 


76        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

who  also  was  in  the  service  of  our  government.  This 
Austrian  had  a  son,  a  graduate  of  the  military  school  of 
Hanover,  Germany,  who,  some  months  before  this,  with 
his  father's  connivance,  had  eloped  from  that  place  with 
the  daughter  of  a  Jewish  banker,  whose  consent  to  her 
marriage  could  not  be  obtained.  According  to  Jewish 
customs,  the  banker,  after  his  daughter's  flight,  had  gone 
through  a  ceremony  in  his  synagogue  excommunicating 
and  anathematizing  her  for  marrying  against  his  will  and 
outside  her  race.  Very  naturally  this  ceremony  had  had  a 
serious  effect  upon  the  daughter's  mind.  At  the  time  of  the 
occurrence  about  to  be  related,  the  Jewess  was  presiding 
at  the  table  at  which  the  engineer  and  the  author's  friend 
were  seated,  her  husband  being  absent.  Suddenly,  her 
hand,  which  happened  to  be  holding  a  cup  of  tea,  and  her 
whole  frame  began  to  quiver,  then,  with  a  frightened  look 
upon  her  face,  she  shrieked  out  in  German,  "  My  father  is 
dead  !  My  father  is  dead  !  "  and  fell  senseless  to  the  floor. 
A  physician  was  summoned,  but  the  lady,  though  par- 
tially restored,  did  not,  for  a  long  time  at  least,  recover  her 
reason.  Soon  after  the  physician  had  arrived,  the  Austrian 
engineer  and  the  author's  friend,  in  talking  over  the  cir- 
cumstances, decided  to  take  down  the  exact  time  of  the 
day.  They  did  so,  and  three  weeks  later — telegraphic 
communication  between  Europe  and  America  had  not 
then  been  established — they  received  information  that  the 
banker  had  died  in  Germany  at  virtually  the  same  hour  at 
which  the  events  just  described  had  taken  place  in  New 
York. 

Exactly  what  was  the  form  assumed  by  the  impressions 
conveyed  to  this  Jewess,  the  author's  friend  never  ascer- 
tained. It  never  was  feasible  to  do  so,  owing  to  the  state 
of  her  mind.  But  that  sometimes  in  such  cases  persons  are 


OCCULT  PERCEPTION  OF    THE   FUTURE.  77 

seen,  and  at  other  times  words  are  heard,  seems  abun- 
dantly proved.  Certain  reports  made  to  the  English  Society 
of  Psychical  Research,  published  by  Meyers  and  Gurney  in 
a  volume  entitled  "  Phantasms  of  the  Living,"  contain  ac- 
counts of  something  like  six  hundred  experiences  of  the 
same  general  character,  all  occurring  in  our  own  times,  and 
confirmed  by  the  testimony  of  at  least  two  persons.  Many 
of  these  persons,  too,  who  all  give  their  names  and  ad- 
dresses, are  widely  known.  One  remarkable  feature  of 
such  occurrences  is  that,  in  an  occult  way,  they  make 
known  not  only  that  which  is  distant  in  space,  but  some- 
times also  future  in  time,  nothing,  perhaps,  being  better 
authenticated  than  the  experience  which  certain  persons 
have  of  premonitions.  Nor  is  there  much  reason  to  doubt 
that,  in  rare  cases,  the  remote  future  *  even  is  foreseen  with 

1  When  studying  this  subject,  several  years  ago,  the  author  used  to  hear 
quite  a  number  of  predictions,  but  the  conclusion  reached  by  him  was  that 
in  no  circumstances  was  it  worth  while  to  anticipate  either  trouble  or  suc- 
cess on  the  supposition  that  the  predictions  might  be  fulfilled.  Almost  all 
of  them  were  proved  to  be  mere  fabrications  of  fraud  or  fancy.  But  now 
and  then,  with  just  sufficient  frequency  to  throw  doubt  upon  the  result's 
being  due  to  mere  coincidence,  such  a  prediction  would  be  fulfilled,  and  with 
marvellous  accuracy.  For  instance,  an  English  psychometrist,  consulted 
without  premeditation  because  of  a  sign  seen  on  a  door, — a  man  who,  as 
a  psychometrist  (see  note  on  page  120),  might,  of  course,  have  merely 
perceived  distant  property  occultly,  and,  as  any  man  might  upon  seeing  it 
normally,  have  made  a  guess  with  reference  to  its  prospective  value, — 
described  a  house,  of  the  existence  of  which  the  author  was  conscious  of 
knowing  nothing.  The  house  was  said  to  be  a  thousand  miles  or  so  away 
from  where  they  were,  and  in  a  certain  State  where  the  author  had  never 
spent  more  than  a  week,  the  name  of  which  State  was  given.  The  house 
was  described  so  that  its  identity  and  surroundings  were  unmistakable, 
such  terms  being  used  as  ' '  near  standing  water,"  and — to  quote  from  memory 
two  phrases  that  seem  to  have  been  omitted  from  the  notes  written  immedi- 
ately after  the  interview — "  unpainted,"  and  "  two  storeys  and  a  tower."  It 
was  stated  that,  on  account  of  visiting  a  place  in  sight  of  this  house,  the  au- 
thor would  obtain  a  sufficient  sum  of  money  to  become  independent.  Two 


78        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

an  accuracy  of  detail  as  perfect  as  could  be  afforded  to  an 
eye-witness.  All  of  us  have  read  of  reasonably  authen- 
ticated prophecies  that  have  been  made  to  men  and 
women  who  have  subsequently  had  exceptional  careers  ; 
and  these  have  been  by  no  means  confined  to  those  living 
in  prehistoric  periods.  Take,  for  instance,  the  prophecies 
of  their  careers  said  to  have  been  made  of  Marie  Antoi- 
nette and  the  Empress  Josephine,  or  by  the  Indian  Kan- 
awa  of  George  Washington  in  his  early  life  :  "  He  cannot 

years  later,  he  found  himself  in  the  State  indicated,  face  to  face  with  just 
such  a  house,  and,  because  of  being  there,  a  difference  of  opinion  arose  with 
reference  to  property  which  he  partly  owned.  This  difference  led  to  his 
accepting  an  offer  to  divide  the  property,  and  in  less  than  a  year,  though 
no  part  of  that  which  went  to  others  had  increased  in  value,  his  had  in- 
creased tenfold.  It  seems  important  to  add,  in  order  to  show  the  method 
in  which  such  prophecies — if  they  be  prophecies — are  usually  fulfilled,  that 
the  statement  heard  two  years  before  had  made  no  impression  upon  him, 
and  would  probably  have  been  forgotten  had  it  not  been  written  down  in 
a  note-book.  Nor  was  it  the  influence  of  the  prediction  that  had  brought 
about  the  result,  this  being  owing  to  the  wholly  unexpected  and  unsolicited 
offers  made  and  urged  upon  his  acceptance  by  others.  Such  facts  seem  to 
indicate  that,  possibly,  our  conceptions,  not  only  of  space,  but  of  time,  are 
due  to  material  limitations,  and  that  the  mind,  so  far  as  it  can  act  outside 
of  these,  can  occasionally  look  forward  as  readily  as  sideward.  At  any 
rate,  there  is  a  sense  in  which  every  man  has  his  own  destiny  rolled  up 
within  him,  and,  in  rare  instances,  as  applied  to  rare  occurrences,  it  may 
be  supernormally  unrolled.  Notice,  for  instance,  the  following,  told  by 
an  exceptionally  trustworthy  person,  a  friend  of  the  author :  This  friend, 
while  on  a  visit  to  an  uncle  who  was  a  physician,  accompanied  this  uncle 
when  calling  upon  a  patient  suffering  from  a  nervous  disorder.  The 
patient,  a  complete  stranger  from  a  distant  city,  almost  before  being  intro- 
duced, turned  upon  the  physician's  companion,  who,  as  it  happened,  was 
to  be  married  in  a  few  days,  and  said  :  "  You  will  not  marry  the  person  to- 
whom  you  are  engaged.  But  do  not  regret  it.  You  will  marry  happily 
this  person's  most  intimate  friend."  The  prediction  was  fulfilled  in  all 
regards,  the  intended  wedding  being  first  postponed  and  then  prevented  by 
the  parents  of  the  engaged  parties,  owing  to  a  disagreement  because  the 
family  of  the  one  was  Protestant  and  the  family  of  the  other  was  not. 


MIND-READING.  79 

die  in  battle.  The  Great  Spirit  protects  that  man  and 
guides  his  destinies.  He  will  become  the  chief  of  nations, 
and  a  people  yet  unborn  will  hail  him  as  the  founder  of  a 
mighty  empire."  Or  take  Abraham  Lincoln's  dream  about 
a  ship,  as  told  by  him  on  the  day  on  which  he  was  assassin- 
ated, and  which,  as  he  then  said,  he  had  dreamed  several 
times  on  the  night  preceding  some  trying  event  in  the 
history  of  the  nation. 

But  there  is  another  characteristic  of  the  subconscious 
mind  that  needs  to  be  noticed.  It  can  not  only  transgress 
the  limitations  of  matter,  and  see  or  hear  things  at  a  dis- 
tance in  space  or  in  time,  but  without  the  exercise  of 
any  power  that,  in  the  slightest  degree,  resembles  sight  or 
hearing,  it  can  cause  the  conscious  mind  to  become  cog- 
nizant of  the  thoughts  and  feelings,  both  conscious  and 
subconscious,  that  are  at  work  in  the  minds  of  others. 
We  have  an  example  of  this  in  ordinary  mind-reading, 
in  which  one  person,  or  a  number  of  persons,  will  think 
of  some  action,  and  a  third  person,  not  told  what  the 
action  is,  will  perform  it.  Frequently,  however,  a  pro. 
ficient  mind-reader,  instead  of  being  influenced  by  the 
conscious  thoughts  of  others,  is  influenced  by  their  sub- 
conscious thoughts.  He  will  speak  of  scenes  and  events 
entirely  forgotten  by  them  and  buried  in  memory,  but 
which,  when  thus  unexpectedly  recalled,  are  recognized 
as  being  detailed  with  accuracy.  Undoubtedly  many 
of  the  phenomena  of  "  modern  spiritualism  "  are  of  this 
nature.  The  medium,  possibly  because  thrown  by  his 
visitors  into  a  fully  or  partially  hypnotic  condition,  recalls 
facts  which  are  stored  in  their  subconscious  memories. 
This  explanation  would  account  both  for  the  accuracy 
of  the  deliverances  and  for  their  apparent  strange, 
ness.  "  I  was  not  thinking  at  all  of  this  subject,"  says  the 


80        REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

visitor,  "  and  was  told  so-and-so  about  it."  Indeed,  the 
writer,  in  experimenting  once  with  an  extremely  success- 
ful mind-reader,  found  that  certain  words  and  questions 
written  upon  concealed  papers  could  be  read  more  ac- 
curately when  the  one  who  wrote  them  did  not  concen- 
trate his  thought  upon  them,  but,  in  a  general  way, 
thought  of  something  else. 

Connected  with  this  ability  of  the  mind,  through  its 
subconscious  powers,  to  receive  communications  from 
outside  itself  are  some  very  interesting  developments. 
The  Rev.  William  Stanton  Moses  (M.A.  Oxon.)  states 
that  while  his  hand  was  automatically  writing  his  "  Psy- 
chography,"  he  spent  his  time  in  reading  Plato.  It  is 
frequently  supposed  that  such  statements  are  due  to 
self-deception  or  falsehood,  and  that  all  automatic  writ- 
ing on  the  part  of  "  spiritual  mediums "  is  fraudulent. 
In  some  cases  this  may  be  so  (see  page  82).  But  in  other 
cases  it  is  not.  The  author  is  well  acquainted  with  a 
Presbyterian  Doctor  of  Divinity,  in  exceptionally  good 
standing,  who  himself,  with  other  members  of  his  family, 
practised  automatic  writing,  till  the  results  became  so  in- 
explicably accurate  as  literally  to  frighten  them  and  they 
desisted.  The  author  is  acquainted  with  another  person 
into  whose  mind  come  the  words  of  essays  concerning 
subjects  of  which,  sometimes,  the  person  writing  them 
knows  nothing  when  the  essays  begin.  The  sentences  in 
these  essays  are  involved,  and  their  meanings  difficult  to 
determine.  But  after  being  written  down,  the  one  whose 
hand  has  transcribed  them  studies  them,  exactly  as  one 
would  a  Hebrew  text,  and  then  translates  them  into 
plain  English  and  publishes  them — usually  in  religious 
weeklies.  This  person  is  a  "  Spiritualist,"  the  reader  may 
think.  Not  at  all ;  but,  at  the  time  when  these  things 


AUTOMATIC    WRITING.  8 1 

were  told,  had  never  attended  a  "  spiritualist  "  seance,  and 
was  strongly  opposed  to  any  one's  doing  it.  Then  an  un- 
trustworthy enthusiast,  the  reader  may  think.  Not  at  all, 
again ;  but  was  the  president  of  a  society  with  ramifica- 
tions all  over  the  country,  among  the  officers  and  mem- 
bers of  which  were  clergymen  and  others  whose  names 
were  household  words  in  exceptionally  conservative 
Christian  denominations. 

Indeed,  any  of  us  who  may  succeed  in  gaining  the 
confidence  of  those  about  us  will  be  amazed  to  find  how 
many  have  had  individual  experiences  of  such  a  nature  as 
to  confirm  the  general  trustworthiness  of  all  the  statements 
that  have  been  made  here  with  reference  to  the  occult 
action  of  the  mind.  "You  knew  my  son  James,"  said 
a  well-known  Episcopal  bishop  to  a  friend  of  the  author. 
"  The  night  that  he  died,  a  thousand  miles  away  from 
home,  he  came  back,  and  we  saw  him."  After  making 
every  allowance  possible  for  mistakes  in  judgment,  for  mere 
hallucinations,  and  for  coincidences,  there  remains  a  mass 
of  evidence  in  rejecting  which  a  man  shows  more  credu- 
lity with  reference  to  material  limitations  than  he  shows 
with  reference  to  immaterial  possibilities  in  accepting.1 
There  are,  however,  two  good  reasons  why  people  gen- 
erally refrain  from  telling  of  such  experiences  in  promis- 
cuous society.  Both  reasons  probably  are  at  the  root 

1  An  exhaustive  enumeration  and  description  of  treatises  dealing  with  the 
occult  will  be  found  in  Chapter  XVIII.,  as  also  in  the  Bibliographical 
Index  of  "  Demon  Possession  and  Allied  Themes,"  written  by  J.  L.  Nevius, 
D.D.,  for  forty  years  a  Presbyterian  missionary  to  the  Chinese,  and  pub- 
lished by  the  Fleming  H.  Revell  Company  of  Chicago,  1894.  Few  are 
aware  how  thoroughly  and  scientifically  this  whole  subject  has  been  studied, 
or  how  extensive  and  valuable  is  the  literature  that  treats  of  it.  Dr. 
Nevius,  it  may  be  said,  acknowledges  communications  from  spirits  ;  but 
from  evil  spirits  only,  dividing  into  good  and  evil  those  that  the  "  modern 
spiritualist "  would  divide  into  more  and  less  advanced  orders. 


82         REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

of  the  theory  of  some  of  the  Theosophists  that  a  man 
should  not  tell  of  them  in  any  society;  and  one  reason 
certainly  justifies  the  Hebraic  laws  against  consulting" 
soothsayers  or  practising  sorcery.  The  first  reason  is 
that  when  one  talks  of  such  experiences  to  those  who 
have  no  confidence  in  his  keenness  and  judgment,  he  is 
in  danger  of  making  a  fool  of  himself.  The  second  is 
that  when  he  talks  of  the  same  to  those  who  have  confi- 
dence in  him,  he  is  in  danger  of  making  fools  of  them.  If 
they  be  led  to  believe  in  any  man,  to  the  extent  of  fol- 
lowing his  advice,  who  practises  an  occult  art,  this  man 
has  it  in  his  power  to  ruin  them ;  and  the  more  of  an 
adept  he  is,  the  more  he  has  it  in  his  power  to  do  this. 
The  records  of  the  police  courts  of  every  large  city  reveal 
that  many  a  "  professional "  fortune-teller,  clairvoyantr 
medium,  is  merely  a  paid  agent,  leading  the  credulous 
into  speculation,  and  even,  occasionally,  into  vice.  The 
slight  facility  in  mind-reading  which  enables  one  to  give 
his  visitors'  names  and  vaguely  tell  half  a  dozen  incidents 
of  their  past  lives  is  only  a  net  spread  in  which  the  more 
easily  to  entrap  some  man  into  buying  stock  in  a  certain 
mine  that  has  no  value,  or  some  woman  into  seeking 
employment  in  certain  houses  where  virtue  receives  no 
consideration.  Even  a  "professional"  who  intends  no 
harm  may  be  indolent  or  self-indulgent,  or,  at  least, 
loath,  for  a  few  dimes,  to  undergo  the  nervous  exhaus- 
tion frequently  incident  upon  a  genuine  practice  of  his 
"gift."  The  author  himself,  upon  placing  his  hand  on 
the  heart  of  one  man  when  in  this  abnormal  state,  found 
it  beating  at  the  rate  of  about  two  hundred  strokes  a 
minute.  No  wonder  if  the  "  medium  "  thus  affected  pre- 
ferred ordinarily,  as  was  said  of  him,  to  practise  sleight 
of  hand,  accompanied  by  tales  conjured  from  his  own 


MEDIUMS.  83 

normal  imagination.  Other  "  mediums,"  again,  who  have 
no  wish  to  deceive,  are  so  constituted,  physically,  that 
the  very  hypnotic  susceptibility  enabling  them  to  give  re- 
ports from  the  subconscious  mind  forces  them  to  report, 
more  than  anything  else,  that  which  is  in  the  thought 
and  wish  of  their  visitor.  Others  still, — and  this  is  a  very 
frequent  result, — with  the  most  honest  intentions,  seem 
unable  to  distinguish  what  the  subconscious  mind,  sup- 
posed to  be  sent  on  its  journey,  sees  or  hears,  from  what 
the  conscious  mind  imagines  it  possible  to  see  or  hear. 
Of  course,  to  follow  implicitly  the  advice  of  either  of 
these  last  two  classes  would  be  about  as  wise  as  to  follow 
that  of  an  insane  person.  Finally,  there  are  others  who, 
though  they  can  clearly  distinguish  the  action  of  the  sub- 
conscious mind,  mistake  its  significance,  and,  as  in  the 
case  mentioned  on  page  75,  give  advice  that  is  erroneous. 
Thomas  J.  Hudson,  in  "  The  Law  of  Psychic  Phenom- 
ena," attributes  all  occult  manifestations  to  the  subcon- 
scious mind,  acting  either  independently  or  as  influenced 
by  the  conscious  or  unconscious  thoughts  or  feelings  of 
others.  Modern  "  spiritualists  "  do  not  believe  that  this 
theory  can  account  for  all  the  facts.  Owing  to  communica- 
tions apparently  received  from  some  person  who  has 
passed  away,  and  who  only,  as  is  alleged,  could  know  of  oc- 
currences that  are  mentioned,  they  attribute  many  of  the 
phenomena  of  which  we  have  been  speaking  to  the  influ- 
ence of  spirits.  But  suppose  that  one  accept  this  theory 
—what  then  ?  Does  it  change,  in  the  least,  the  conditions 
pointed  out  in  the  last  paragraph  ?  May  not  communi- 
cations coming  through  a  genuine  medium  be  just  as 
untrustworthy  as  they  would  be  if  coming  through 
one  whose  "  gift  "  was  owing  to  some  phase  of  what 
is  termed  mere  hypnotism?  Are  not  many  statements 


84        REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

that  are  made  by  mediums  untrue  ?  Are  not  many  of 
their  prophecies  never  fulfilled?  Is  not  much  of  their 
advice  misleading?  Suppose  that  a  medium  have  every 
personal  trait  necessary  to  genuineness,  honesty,  and  an 
intelligent  interpretation  of  communications.  May  not, 
now  and  then,  some  deceitful  spirit  indite  them  ?  What 
indisputable  proof  can  we  find  that  they  are  indited  by 
that  lost  friend  of  ours,  say  our  mother,  or  by  that  famous 
man,  say  Washington,  or  by  that  religious  man,  say 
Beecher,  whom  the  spirit  purports  to  be  ?  Now  add  one 
more  consideration,  which  is  that  in  the  vast  majority  of 
cases  predictions  given  in  this  way  that  are  afterwards 
fulfilled  attract,  when  first  heard,  little  attention,  •  and 
are  brought  to  an  issue,  as  in  the  cases  mentioned  on 
pages  77  and  78,  without  any  directing  effort  on  the  part  of 
the  one  receiving  them  ;  and  does  'not  the  value  of  such 
advice  for  commercial  or  any  materially  practical  purposes 
appear  exceedingly  slight  ?  And  do  not  the  dangers  of 
following  the  advice  appear  correspondingly  great  ? 

At  the  same  time,  whatever  may  be  these  dangers,  they 
may  all  be  avoided  by  recognizing — for  reasons  that  will  be 
given  in  following  chapters — that  nothing  whatever  com- 
ing from  such  a  source  is  necessarily  authoritative.  More- 
over, the  subject,  considered  theoretically  or  theologically, 
is  in  itself  of  great  importance.  What  can  be  more  im- 
portant than  that  which  concerns  the  apprehension  of  the 
possibilities,  mental  or  spiritual,  of  the  subconscious 
processes  of  mind, — of  their  capabilities  of  receiving  and 
giving  impressions,  whether  before  death  or  after  it?  On 
the  whole,  therefore,  notwithstanding  the  dangers,  this 
importance  justifies  philosophic  and  scientific  investiga- 
tion. Nor,  in  refutation  of  this  view,  is  it  sufficient  to 
quote  the  old  Hebrew  laws  against  witchcraft  and  sorcery, 


PSYCHICAL   RESEARCH.  85 

as  in  Deut.  xviii.,  10,  n.  These  laws,  much  as  they  may 
have  been  needed  in  order  to  uphold,  in  an  unscientific 
age,  the  authority  of  a  theocracy  governed  by  a  priest- 
hood, cannot  be  proved  to  be  applicable  to  our  own  age 
and  circumstances  ;  and  if  they  could  be  proved  to  be  so, 
a  strong  argument  could  be  framed  to  show  that  they  do 
not  apply  to  an  investigating  attitude  of  mind,  but  to  the 
opposite  of  this, — to  an  attitude  of  mind  in  which,  waiving 
the  exercise  of  his  own  judgment  and  reason,  a  man  is 
looking  to  the  occult  for  that  which  can  take  the  place  of 
them.  We  may  be  sure  that,  in  this  world,  nothing  can 
ever  rightly  do  this,— a  statement  that  is  equally  appli- 
cable whether  one  be  seeking  to  solve  the  petty  problems 
of  material  life  or  the  profounder  ones  of  spiritual  life. 
Every  circumstance  connected  with  the  formation  or 
development  of  character  proves  that  our  own  conscious 
mental  powers  are  given  us  to  be  used.  Nor  should  we 
expect  any  worthy  gain  in  life,  individual  or  collective, 
from  a  course  in  which  any  other  agency  is  allowed  to 
interfere  with  our  using  them  to  the  utmost  degree  that 
is  possible. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

SIGNIFICANCE    AS    ATTRIBUTABLE    TO    MENTAL    ACTION: 

RELIGIOUS   CONCEPTIONS   HAVING  THEIR 

SOURCE  IN   INSPIRATION. 

Subconscious  and  Conscious  Influences  Found  in  all  Intellection,  but  the 
Main  Source  of  it  Different  in  Religion,  Science,  and  Art — Making  it 
in  Each  Different  in  Kind — Origin  of  Religious  Conceptions  Concern- 
ing a  Future  State  of  Rewards  and  Punishments — Often  Attributed  to 
Natural  Causes — Should  be  Attributed  to  Influences  from  Nature's 
Occult  Side — Shown  in  Susceptibility  of  the  Primitive,  Uneducated 
Man  to  Such  Influences — Instinct  and  Reason — Instinctive  and  Reflect- 
ive as  Correlated  to  Subconscious  and  Conscious  Intellection — Re- 
sult of  Subconscious  Intellection  Allied  to  the  Teachings  of  Nature 
and  Religion — To  the  Mental  Action  of  Animals — Of  Negroes,  Indi- 
ans, and  those  Subject  to  Hallucinations,  with  Inferences  therefrom — 
Like  Inferences  with  Reference  to  the  Origin  of  Religion  Drawn  from 
Primitive  Religious  Customs — With  the  Growth  of  Intelligence  Physi- 
cal Occult  Manifestations  are  Considered  Less  Important  than  Verbal 
— But  the  Verbal  Continue  to  be  Associated  with  Subconscious  Intel- 
lection— Truth  Obtainable  from  this  Depends  on  Suggestion  Developed 
in  it — Truth  of  the  Suggestion  Depends  on  Conscious  as  well  as  Sub- 
conscious Intellection  Exercised  by  Some  One — The  Conscious  Mind 
Modifies  Everything  Received  from  the  Subconscious,  Making  it  not 
Less  Inspired,  but  More  Intelligent — This  the  Condition  in  Inspired 
Writings — Intellectual  Progress  Resulting  from  this  Form  of  Inspired 
Influence. 

TN  Chapter  V.  attention  was  directed  to  the  two  dif- 
ferent spheres  of  mental  action, — the  subconscious 
and  the  conscious  ;  especially  to  the  former,  for  the  reason 
that  it  is  generally  less  understood.  It  was  intimated  that 
from  this,  i.  e.,  the  subconscious,  is  derived,  though  not 

86 


INTELLECTION  IN  RELIGION,  SCIENCE,  AND  ART.      8/ 

necessarily  entirely  developed,  the  religious  phase  of  sig- 
nificance that  may  be  said  to  have  its  source  in  inspira- 
tion ;  from  the  conscious  the  scientific  phase  that  may  be 
said  to  have  its  source  in  investigation  ;  and  from  both 
together  the  artistic  phase  that  may  be  said  to  have  its 
source  in  imagination.  The  phrase,  "  derived,  though  not 
necessarily  entirely  developed,"  is  important  in  order  to  ex- 
press the  exact  truth.  As  shown  on  page  65,  the  range  of 
a  man's  physical  possibilities  includes  results  attributable 
both  to  subconscious  and  to  conscious  activity ;  and  it  is 
logical  to  infer  that  the  same  is  true  of  his  mental  possi- 
bilities. In  other  words,  it  is  logical  to  infer  that  the 
results  of  both  forms  of  activity  are  to  be  found  in  all  de- 
partments of  intellection.  In  religion,  those  mental  possi- 
bilities of  thought  and  emotion  which  are  first  influenced 
from  without  may  be  supposed,  for  reasons  given  in 
Chapter  V.,  to  be  in  the  subconscious  region,  the  results 
of  which  dominate  over  results — which  nevertheless,  as 
we  shall  find  hereafter,  must  interpret  them — in  the  con- 
scious region  ;  in  science,  the  mental  possibilities  first 
influenced  are  in  the  conscious  region,  and  its  results 
dominate  over  results — which  nevertheless,  as  we  shall  find 
hereafter,  must  intuitively  judge  of  them — in  the  subcon- 
scious region  ;  and  in  art,  both  the  mental  possibilities  first 
influenced  and  the  dominance  may  be  either  in  the  sub- 
conscious region,  which  is  the  religious  requirement,  or  in 
the  conscious  region,  which  is  the  scientific  ;  but  whether 
in  the  one  or  in  the  other,  no  results  ever  become  artistic 
except  when,  as  in  skill,  there  is  a  harmonious  blending 
of  influences  traceable  to  both  regions.  Let  it  be  under- 
stood, therefore,  that  while,  for  theoretical  purposes,  we 
are  now  to  analyze  and  separate  the  actions  of  the  sub- 
conscious mind  from  those  of  the  conscious  mind,  this  is 


88         REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

not  because  conceptions  in  either  religion,  science,  or  art 
are  supposed  to  be  determined  by  either  phase  of  intel- 
lection exclusively.  As  will  become  evident  hereafter, 
a  clear  recognition  of  the  constant  interaction  between 
both  phases  will  enable  us  to  avoid  many  not  uncommon 
errors. 

The  fact  that  artistic  significance  is  derived  from  the 
same  mental  sphere,  in  part,  as  that  of  religion,  and,  in 
part,  as  that  of  science,  modifies  all  the  accompanying 
conditions  of  art  to  such  extent  as  to  make  it  virtually 
different  in  kind  from  either  of  the  other  two.  A  religious 
conception  cannot  become  artistic  until  imagination  has 
presented  it  in  a  form  which  manifests  an  observation  of 
external  appearances  and  an  information  with  reference  to 
them  as  accurate,  in  some  regards,  as  are  those  of  science. 
Nor  can  a  scientific  conception  become  artistic  before 
imagination  has  haloed  it  about  with  suggestions  as  in- 
spired, in  some  regards,  as  are  those  of  religion.  It  is 
evident,  too,  as  already  intimated  on  page  63,  that  in  order 
to  understand  either  the  range  or  the  limitations  of  art, 
we  must  begin  by  understanding  both  that  which  allies 
it  to  these  two  other  departments,  and  also  that  which 
differentiates  it  from  them. 

Turning  to  the  first  department,  it  will  be  recognized 
that  religious  conceptions  are  influenced  not  alone  by 
the  spiritual,  but  also,  more  or  less,  by  the  material. 
Material  surroundings  are  capable  of,  at  least,  illustrat- 
ing religious  conceptions,  and  of  being  used,  by  way 
of  reference,  in  communicating  them.  Nevertheless, 
the  degree  of  the  dependence  of  religion  upon  such  sur- 
roundings is  very  much  less  than  that  of  art.  In  order  to 
realize  this,  let  us  try  to  get  a  clear  understanding  of 
exactly  what  is  the  degree  of  this  dependence, — of  exactly 


ORIGIN  OF  RELIGIOUS  BELIEFS.  89 

what  is  the  source  to  which  we  can  mainly  attribute  the 
phenomena  of  religion.  Possibly  every  reader  of  this 
volume  has  heard  even  the  fundamental  belief  in  exist- 
ence after  death  attributed  to  some  one  religious  system, 
as,  for  instance,  to  the  revelations  recorded  in  the  Hebrew 
and  Christian  Scriptures.  Yet  every  observant  traveller 
or  historian  knows  that  this  belief  is  practically  universal, 
as  proved  not  only  by  that  which  is  usually  taught,  but 
by  such  practices  as  the  placing  with  the  dead  of  their 
weapons  and  clothing,  as  among  the  aboriginal  Americans, 
Australians,  and  Africans  ;  or  the  worshipping  of  the  dead, 
and,  at  stated  seasons,  scores  of  years  after  their  burial, 
the  spreading  of  tables  before  their  graves,  as  among  the 
East  Indians,  Japanese,  and  Chinese ;  as  well  as  by  what 
is  indicated  upon  the  monuments  and  taken  for  granted 
in  the  literature  of  ancient  Assyria,  Egypt,  Greece,  and 
Rome.  Indeed,  it  is  simply  a  fact  that  among  the  people 
of  Asia  to-day  there  are  more  customs  and  ceremonies 
suggesting  a  belief  in  a  life  after  death  than  there  are 
among  the  Christians  of  Europe  and  America  ;  and  there 
are  more  references  to  such  a  life  in  the  literature  of 
ancient  Greece  and  Rome  than  in  that  of  Judea.  Every 
school-boy  who  has  studied  classic  mythology  can  recall 
descriptions  of  Elyseum  and  Hades  in  the  writings  of  the 
former  peoples  ;  but  our  most  learned  commentators  have 
failed  to  find  more  than  a  very  few  references  to  any  such 
belief  throughout  the  entire  Old  Testament.  Nor  among 
non-Christian  people  is  there  any  failure  to  believe  in 
future  states  of  rewards  and  punishments.  These  also 
are  described,  or  taken  for  granted,  by  the  classic  writers, 
and  are  just  as  thoroughly  taught  by  the  Buddhists  and 
other  religionists  of  the  Orient  as  by  ourselves. 

Now,  how  did  such  beliefs  originate  ?     The  theory  held 


go        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

a  few  years  ago  attributed  them,  except  among  the  He- 
brews, to  the  imagination.  It  was  said  that  they  were 
gradually  developed  in  human  experience,  at  times  when 
it  was  affected  by  such  results  as  the  rustling  of  trees  in 
dark  woods,  or  the  dashing  of  waves  on  lonely  shores — 
results  arousing  the  mind  to  superstition,  while  they 
worked  upon  the  sources  of  apprehension  and  conscience. 
Even  more  specific  beliefs  with  reference  to  the  person- 
ality of  the  gods,  and  their  relations  to  men,  were 
supposed  to  be  derived  through  natural  methods  of 
development — some  of  them,  for  instance,  through  the 
same  as  those  causing  the  formation  of  language. 
Take,  for  example,  such  an  argument  as  this :  When  men 
had  no  word  for  the  sun,  they  would  naturally  call  it  the 
father  of  the  day,  or — for  a  similar  reason — call  the  earth 
a  mother ;  and  owing  to  this  usage  of  words  they  would, 
after  a  time,  come  to  associate  real  fatherhood  with  the 
one,  or  motherhood  with  the  other,  and  finally  to  imagine 
each  to  have  a  personality,  and  thus  to  worship  the  sun  or 
the  earth  as  a  god.  Max  Mtiller,  in  the  fourth  of  his  lect- 
ures on  "  The  Science  of  Religion,"  gives  a  modification 
of  this  view,  although  still  attributing  the  origin  of  religion 
to  imagination,  by  saying  that  when  the  primitive  man, 
feeling  his  incompleteness  and  need  of  dependence,  and 
wanting  something  like  a  father  in  heaven,  chose  the  name 
sky  to  express  his  conception  of  it,  he  "  did  not  mean  .  .  . 
that  the  visible  sky  was  all  he  wanted.  .  .  .  But  when 
that  name  had  to  be  used  with  the  young  and  the  aged, 
with  silly  children  and  doting  grandmothers,  it  was  im- 
possible to  preserve  it  from  being  misunderstood.  The 
first  step  downwards  would  be  to  look  upon  the  sky  as  the 
abode  of  that  being  which  was  called  by  the  same  name. 
.  .  .  Lastly,  many  things  that  were  true  of  the  visible 


ORIGIN  OF  RELIGIOUS  BELIEFS.  91 

sky  would  be  told  of  its  divine  namesake,  and  legends 
would  spring  up  destroying  every  trace  of  the  deity  that 
once  was  hidden  beneath  that  ambiguous  name." 

There  is  one  important  defect  common  to  all  these 
explanations.  This  is  that  they  fail  to  go  to  the  bottom 
of  the  subject.  They  fail  to  show  us  why  winds,  waves, 
or  skies,  in  combination  with  darkness,  loneliness,  or  weak- 
ness, should  cause  a  man  to  associate  noise,  force,  or  height 
with  the  influence  of  spirits  ;  or  to  show  us  why  particular, 
uses  of  language  or  applications  of  it  to  things  on  earth  or 
in  heaven  should  suggest  this  influence.  We  attribute  cer- 
tain noises  in  our  houses  to  the  shutting  of  a  door,  to  the 
draft  of  a  furnace,  or  to  the  gnawing  of  mice.  But  why 
do  we  do  this?  Because  we  have  had  experience,  or 
others  have  had  experience  of  which  they  have  told  us,  of 
similar  noises  that  could  be  traced  to  these  sources.  This 
is  that  which  occasions  and  justifies  our  inferences.  Just 
so,  experiences  of  his  own  or  of  others  such  as  are  related 
on  page  76  would  justify  superstitious  inferences  on  the 
part  of  the  primitive  man.  Otherwise,  though  he  might 
attribute  certain  sounds  heard  to  birds  or  animals,  he  would 
scarcely  think  of  attributing  them  to  spirits.  Take  into  a 
forest  a  child  who  has  never  been  taught  that  there  are 
ghosts,  and  you  will  have  a  hard  time  convincing  him  that 
any  sound  that  he  hears  is  produced  by  a  being  impossible 
to  see.  Only,  therefore,  as  we  consider  the  capability  of 
the  mind's  being  actually  influenced  at  certain  times  from 
the  hidden  or  occult  side  of  nature  do  we  seem  to  have  a 
thoroughly  satisfactory  reason  for  the  universal  prevalence 
of  superstitious  beliefs. 

That  this  is  the  true  reason  appears  probable,  more- 
over, in  view  of  the  fact  that  any  consciousness  whatever 
of  being  influenced  through  the  subconscious  mind  is 


92         REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

more  likely  to  be  experienced  by  a  primitive,  uneducated 
man  than  by  an  educated  one.  Education  gives  one 
control  over  his  mental  resources.  It  causes  him  to  un- 
derstand himself,  as  we  say,  or  to  be  conscious  of  himself. 
This  control,  once  established  as  a  habit,  inclines  him  to 
hold  in  check  the  promptings  of  the  subconscious  mind, 
so  that  its  effects  shall  manifest  themselves  either  not 
at  all,  or  only  indirectly,  by  coalescing  with  those  of 
the  conscious  mind.  When  this  is  the  condition,  as 
often  in  art-production,  the  suggestions  and  imaginings 
due  to  subconscious  intellection  cannot  easily  be  dis- 
tinguished from  the  results  of  conscious  intellection. 
The  educated  man,  looking  at  his  subconscious  nature, 
as  he  does,  through  a  glass  darkly,  always  seems  to  see 
the  texture  of  the  material  veil  hanging  in  front  of  it. 
With  the  uneducated  man,  however,  it  is  different.  Influ- 
ences exerted  through  the  subconscious  mind  often  appeal 
to  him  directly.  Indeed,  there  are  reasons  for  believing 
that  when  we  go  lower  down  than  the  uneducated  man, 
we  find  these  influences  appealing  even  to  the  animal. 
There  are  reasons  for  believing  that  they  are  allied  to  all 
manifestations  of  intelligence  which,  in  the  absence  of 
a  predominating  mental  control,  such  as  has  just  been 
said  to  characterize  the  educated  man,  we  attribute  to 
instinct. 

Mr.  Henry  R.  Marshall,  in  his  "Instinct  and  Reason," 
defines  instinct,  which,  in  another  place,  he  shows  to  be 
largely  hereditary,  as  "  the  force  within  us  which  tends  to 
make  us  act  under  certain  conditions  as  all  others  who 
are  of  the  same  type,  which  leads  us  to  undertake  typical 
reactions,"  as,  for  instance,  without  conscious  thought, 
to  ward  off  with  our  hand  a  stone  that  seems  moving 
toward  our  head.  Reason,  he  defines  as  "the  force 


INSTINCT  AND   REASON,  93 

which  tends  to  make  us  vary  from  such  typical  reactions," 
as,  for  instance,  not  to  ward  off  the  stone  when  we  have 
learned  that  it  is  fastened  to  a  string  and  cannot  reach 
our  head.  From  this  conception  it  seems  logical  to 
associate  the  action  of  instinct  with  any  mental  manifes- 
tation which  is  not  the  result  of  reason.  But  we  found 
in  Chapter  V.  that  the  range  of  mental  action  which 
is  not  the  result  of  conscious  reason  is  exceedingly  large. 
It  includes  subconscious  mental  action,  which  seems  to 
correspond  both  to  that  which  is  due  to  instinct,  as  in 
the  case  of  conscience,  and  also  to  that  which  is  due  to 
reason,  as  in  cases  of  lightning  calculators  and  auto- 
matic writers.  Whether  this  be  owing  to  the  fact  that 
the  subconscious  mind  parallels  the  conscious  in  possess- 
ing both  an  instinct  and  a  reason  of  its  own,  or  to  the 
fact  that  everything  that  we  attribute  to  instinct  is  really 
a  result  of  subconscious  reasoning,  which  we  fail  to 
recognize,  merely  because  it  is  in  the  hidden  region,  the 
practical  result  is  the  same.  All  that  we  cannot  con- 
sciously attribute  to  reason,  whether  it  be  due  to  instinct 
because  hereditary,  or  to  automatic  physical  or  mental 
action  because  acquired  by  practice,  or  to  subconscious 
reason  acting  behind  every  instinctive  movement,  as 
some  suppose  instinct  to  act  behind  all  the  movements  of 
the  lower  animals, — all  this  we  may  call,  because,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  rational,  it  seems  to  be  such,  instinctive 
—a  word  which  differs  from  instinct  in  being  an  adjective 
signifying  an  effect  which  has  the  quality  or  appearance 
of  that  which  results  from  instinct.  It  is  in  this  sense 
that  the  word  is  used  in  this  series  of  volumes.  As  con- 
trasted with  instinctive,  the  word  reflective  is  also  used, 
in  the  sense  partly  of  responsive,  as  distinguished  from 
spontaneous,  which  is  suggested  by  instinctive,  and  partly 


94         REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

of  mental  reflection,  which  is  developed  by  exercising  that 
tendency  to  "  reflex  action,  in  which,"  to  quote  the  words 
of  Herbert  Spencer,  in  his  '*  Principles  of  Psychology," 
"we  see  the  incipient  differentiation  of  the  psychical  [or 
rational]  from  the  physical  life." 

In  this  volume,  it  is  to  be  maintained  that  it  is  to  the 
predominance  of  the  instinctive,  as  thus  including  the 
results  of  all  unpremeditated,  subconscious  mental  ac- 
tion,— though  not  to  the  exclusive  exercise  of  this,  which 
would  necessitate  a  very  different  condition, — that  we 
are  indebted  for  our  conceptions  of  those  laws  of  being 
and  becoming  which  give  expression  to  the  methods 
of  the  Creative  Spirit,  and  which  constitute  what  men 
term  religious  truth  ;  that  it  is  to  the  predominance  of  the 
rational  or  conscious  action  of  the  mind  that  we  are  in- 
debted for  scientific  truth ;  while  it  is  to  the  very  nearly 
harmonious  or  equal  blending  of  both  instinctive  and 
rational,  of  both  subconscious  and  conscious,  that  we 
are  indebted  for  artistic  truth.1 

But  why  should  this  be?  Why  should  the  instinctive 
tendency  be  allied  to  religion  ? — Why,  but  because  this 
tendency  rules  in  nature,  and  therefore  represents  the 
Creative  disposition  and  design  ?  Is  it  necessary  to  sup- 
pose that  this  theory,  which  is  expressed  by  many  of  the 
wisest  and  best,  is  merely  a  fabrication  of  fancy,  having 
no  foundation  in  fact?  Does  Wordsworth  mean  nothing 
when  he  says  ? — 

I  have  felt 

A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 

Of  elevated  thoughts  ;  a  sense  sublime 

Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 

1  Compare  with  this  what  is  said  in  "  Art  in  Theory,"  pages  213,  231  to 
235  ;  in  "  Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,"  pages  12  to  18,  and  in  "  Paint- 
ing, Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,"  pages  4  to  13. 


RELIGION'  AND   INSTINCT.  95 

Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living  air, 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man  : 
A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things. 

Lines  Composed  a  few  Miles  above  Tintern  Abbey. 

Or    Matthew  Arnold,   when    he    makes   a  more   definite 
reference  to  the  same  thought  ? — 

"Ah,  once  more,"  I  cried,  "ye  stars,  ye  waters, 

On  my  heart  your  mighty  charm  renew ; 
Still,  still  let  me,  as  I  gaze  upon  you, 
Feel  my  soul  becoming  vast  like  you." 

From  the  intense,  clear,  star-sown  vault  of  heaven, 

Over  the  lit  sea's  unquiet  way, 
In  the  rustling  night-air,  came  the  answer : 

"  Woujdst  thou  be  as  these  are ?     Live  as  they." 

Self -Dependence. 

Why  should  not  that  which  rules  in  inanimate  nature 
rule  also  in  animate  nature  ?  And  though  we  know  that 
it  does  not  rule  in  a  man,  except  so  far  as  he  consciously 
allows  it  to  rule,  why  should  we  suppose  that  this  con- 
scious action  is,  in  anything  like  the  same  degree,  neces- 
sary on  the  part  of  the  animal.  None  of  us  ordinarily 
conceive  of  an  animal  as  sinning.  Why  is  this — even 
among  those  foremost  to  conceive  of  a  man  as  sinning  ? 
Why,  but  because  we  do  not  conceive  of  an  animal  as 
consciously  violating  the  laws  of  his  being — as  con- 
sciously doing  otherwise  than  according  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  his  instinctive  or  subconscious  nature?1  But  we 
all  know  that  a  man  can  do,  and  often  does  do,  exactly 

1  Possibly  it  is  to  the  subtle  recognition  of  this  fact  that  we  can  attribute 
the  worship  of  animals,  or  the  sacredness  with  which  they  are,  or  have 
been,  regarded  among  different  people. 


g6        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

the  opposite  of  that  indicated  by  such  promptings.  He 
does  this  because  of  his  higher  ,human  possibilities,  be- 
cause of  the  preponderating  and  often  counteracting 
influence  that  can  be  exerted  by  his  conscious  and  reflect- 
ive powers  as  influenced  by  his  physical  surroundings. 

Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  Boy, 
But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows, 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy  ; 

The  Youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 
Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  Priest 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended  ; 
At  length  the  Man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

Ode — Intimations  of  Immortality  :    Wordsworth. 

It  is  sometimes  represented  that  the  story  in  the  third 
chapter  of  Genesis  cannot  be  made  to  accord  with  the 
theory  of  development — much  less  with  that  of  evolution. 
But  it  might  be  argued  with  some  truth  that  it  is  exactly 
the  kind  of  story  that  can  be  made  to  accord  with  this 
theory.  What  but  a  mental  condition  very  close  to  that 
of  an  animal  could  be  characterized  by  a  lack  of  "  knowl- 
edge of  good  and  evil,"  or  of  experience  of  temptation 
coming  from  without — from  the  lower  physical  side  of 
life  as  represented  in  the  serpent — and  of  such  a  nature 
as  to  conflict  with  the  promptings  coming  from  within  ? 
Only  an  animal  can  be  true  to  every  condition  of  his 
being,  and  obey  these  latter  promptings  only,  and  these 
unconsciously.  A  man,  to  be  true  to  every  condition 
of  his  being,  must  obey  them  indeed,  but  consciously  and 
rationally,  and  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  them  conform 
to  the  good  as  contrasted  with  the  evil  of  which  the  play 
of  cause  and  effect  in  the  outward  material  world  has 


THE   SUBCONSCIOUS  IN  ANIMALS.  97 

taught  him.  A  very  important  reason  for  holding  this 
opinion  was  given  on  page  85,  and  other  reasons  will 
be  given  hereafter.  At  present,  our  business  is  to  make 
sure  of  the  facts  on  which  the  opinion  is  based. 

It  has  been  said  that  there  are  grounds  for  supposing 
that  the  animals  are  influenced  through  methods  corre- 
sponding to  those  according  to  which  men  are  influenced 
through  the  subconscious  mind.  That  this  is  so  may  be 
made  to  appear  while  we  notice  how  the  animals  may  be 
supposed  to  communicate  with  one  another.  Of  course 
they  are  obliged  to  communicate  without  formulating 
thought  in  words  or  gestures,  because  they  have  neither 
articulating  organs  nor  hands.  But,  though  incapable  of 
formulating  thought,  are  they  incapable  of  having  it  ?  If 
so,  why  does  a  dog  wag  his  tail  and  ears  and  growl  in  his 
sleep?  Is  he  not  dreaming?  But  if  he  can  dream, 
he  must  be  capable  of  processes  of  thought.  Yet  how 
can  he  have  processes  of  thought,  without  using  words  or 
gestures  ?  How,  but  precisely  as  a  man  can — by  seeing  in 
imagination  series  of  pictures?  A  man,  when  thirsty, 
thinks  not  only  of  the  word  thirst,  but  he  has  a  vision  of 
a  tumbler  or  a  spring.  If  he  wish  to  communicate  his 
feeling  to  another,  he  may  use  the  word  thirsty ;  and 
this  other  also,  if  understanding  the  word,  will  have  a 
similar  vision.  But  notice  that  the  essential,  indispen- 
sable factor  is  not  the  word,  but  the  vision  that  is  caused 
in  the  listener's  mind.  The  word  is  convenient,  and,  if  a 
feeling  be  at  all  complex,  it  is  extremely  important,  in 
order  to  convey  distinctness  and  discrimination  of  mean- 
ing. But  the  essential  thing  is  to  cause  the  vision. 
Now  a  dog  certainly  remembers  what  he  has  seen.  If  so, 
he  can  probably  recall  it,  but  to  recall  it,  he  must  have  a 
vision  of  it.  If  he  himself  have  a  vision  of  it,  ability 


98        REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

to  transmit  conceptions  in  an  occult  way  will  enable  him 
to  convey  a  similar  vision  to  another  dog's  brain.  Is 
it  possible  that  this  is  the  way  in  which  animals  com- 
municate ?  Why  is  it  not  ?  Any  one  who  will  have  the 
patience  to  watch  them  will  notice  that  they  often  com- 
municate without  making  a  single  sound  or  movement. 
Who  has  never  seen  two  dogs  or  birds,  at  some  distance 
from  one  another,  start  at  exactly  the  same  moment 
for  the  same  place  ?  Moreover,  there  is  evidence  that 
they  are  often  influenced  by  men  in  this  occult  way. 
How  is  it  that  a  snake  is  charmed,  or  a  horse  broken  —  or 
guided,  for  that  matter  ?  The  next  time  that  the  reader 
is  riding  a  horse,  and  comes  to  four  corners,  let  him  try  to 
turn  him  in  the  direction  chosen  without  using  the  reins, 
i.  e.,  by  merely  thinking.  This  can  sometimes  be  done. 
A  dog  of  which  the  author  knows  was  in  the  habit  of 
bounding  up  into  a  bedroom  every  morning,  and  drinking 
water  poured  out  from  a  pail  that  had  been  standing 
there  over  night.  One  day,  there  was  a  discussion  in  his 
presence  with  reference  to  the  unhealthiness  of  drinking 
water  that  had  been  uncovered  for  as  many  hours  as  this. 
From  that  time,  no  effort  could  get  the  dog  to  continue 
his  former  morning  practice.  It  is  hardly  conceivable  that 
he  should  have  understood  the  subtle  distinctions  of 
words,  and  the  bearings  of  the  discussion,  as  men  would 
have  done.  But  it  is  conceivable  that  he  should  have 
been  influenced  by  the  concentration  of  the  thoughts  of 
the  family — with  or  without  the  indication  of  the  fact  in 
their  countenances — upon  this  particular  water  as  some- 
thing that  one  should  not  drink. 

Nor,  apparently,  can  animals  be  influenced  thus  by  the 
thoughts  of  one  who  is  merely  near  at  hand.  Dr.  C.  N. 
Pierce,  of  Philadelphia,  once  told  the  author  about  a 


THE   SUBCONSCIOUS  AMONG    THE  IGNORANT.       99 

dog  whose  master  frequently  goes  to  Europe.  The  mo- 
ment the  steamer  bearing  the  master  home  reaches  New 
York,  his  family,  living  sixty  miles  away,  are  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  fact  by  the  movements  of  this  dog. 
The  intellection  in  this  case  seems  to  be  exactly  similar 
to  that  of  an  old  negress  once  known  by  the  author. 
She  would  now  and  then  announce  by  name  to  her 
mistress  the  coming  arrival  of  a  guest,  who  would  'reach 
the  house  from  one  to  five  hours  later.  This  faculty 
of  the  negress,  which  could  be  paralleled  by  many  other 
illustrations  of  the  mind's  being  influenced  from  the 
subconscious  side,  perhaps  even  by  that  instinct  which 
keeps  the  Indian  from  being  lost  amid  dense,  untrod- 
den forests,  manifests  itself  among  members  of  the  col- 
ored race  in  other  ways.  It  is  well  known  by  Southern 
clergymen  that,  almost  invariably,  in  describing  their 
conversions,  these  people  tell  of  perceiving  figures  and 
scenes  which  they  take  to  be  supernatural ;  and  in  such 
language  that  it  seems  scarcely  possible  to  suppose  the 
effects  to  be  merely  such  as  white  men  attribute  to 
the  imagination.  Among  the  Indians,  too,  similar  visions, 
if  not  common  in  this  day,  were,  at  one  time,  supposed 
by  some  tribes  to  be  necessary  to  the  formation  of  charac- 
ter. In  Northern  Michigan  their  young  men,  before  be- 
ing permitted  the  full  prerogatives  of  manhood,  were  sent 
into  the  woods,  and  made  to  rest  in  hammocks  swung 
among  the  trees,  and  to  fast  —  the  identical  method  pur- 
sued by  Swedenborg — until  they  had  had  more  or  less  of 
what  in  our  day  would  be  termed  psychic  experience.  Of 
course,  it  is  possible  that  every  experience  of  this  sort 
may  be  a  mere  hallucination,  in  the  sense  in  which  people 
generally,  and  not  philosophers,  use  this  term ;  i.  e.,  a  re- 
sult of  imagination  wrought  upon  by  an  abnormal,  if  not 


100      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

a  diseased,  condition  of  the  physical  nerves.  But  what  of 
that  ?  It  does  not  lessen  the  force  of  the  argument  that 
has  been  presented.  The  argument  is  that  such  experi- 
ences come  to  certain  persons  now,  and  have  come  to 
others  in  the  past ;  and  that  they  are  now,  and  have 
been,  attributed  to  causes  that  are  not  material,  normal,  or 
natural,  but  supposedly  the  opposite, — spiritual,  supernor- 
mal, or  supernatural ;  and  that  this  fact,  especially  in  view 
of  the  far  greater  number  of  psychic  experiences  among 
primitive,  uneducated  people,  sufficiently  accounts  for  the 
origin  of  primitive  beliefs  in  the  supernatural,  or — what  is 
the  same  thing — for  primitive  religion. 

Primitive  religious  customs,  too,  strengthen  this  general 
argument.  Among  the  aborigines  of  America,  Africa,  and 
Australia,  who,  in  historic  times  at  least,  have  had  no 
chance  to  imitate  one  another,  there  are  two  distinct  forms 
in  which  spiritual  communications  are  supposed  to  be  im- 
parted through  the  seer,  or  medicine-man,  whatever  he 
may  be  called.  According  to  one  form,  this  man  goes  into 
a  dark  place — sometimes  a  hut  entirely  shut  in  by  poles 
— and  those  who  consult  him  are  said  to  hear  utterances, 
and,  less  frequently,  to  see  living  figures  emerging  which 
are  different  from  his  own.  According  to  the  other  form, 
while  visible  to  all,  he  seems  to  be  taken  possession  of  by 
some  influence  that  often  makes  him  numb  to  physical 
sensation,  and  that  always  makes  him  talk  or  act  in  a  man- 
ner apparently  foreign  to  his  own  character.1  The  Assyr- 
ians, Egyptians,  Greeks,  and  Romans  seem  to  have  given 

1  It  is  well  known  that,  in  our  own  time  and  country,  there  are  conditions 
resembling  this,  into  which  certain  persons  fall,  owing  to  their  temperament 
or  state  of  health,  or  to  some  hypnotic  influence,  as  we  may  term  it,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously  exerted  upon  them  by  others.  In  these  conditions 
the  body,  while  apparently  put  to  sleep,  seems  to  be  made  the  direct  instru- 
ment of  the  subconscious  mind — either  of  the  subject  himself,  according  to 


TRANCE    CONDITIONS.  IOI 

a  ceremonial  development  to  these  primitive  methods  of 
receiving  supposed  spiritual  communications.  Most  of  the 
Egyptian  temples  contained  rooms  absolutely  dark ;  and 
one  of  the  Assyrian  rites  is  probably  described  with  accu- 
racy in  the  account  in  the  twenty-eighth  chapter  of  I  Sam- 
uel of  the  appearance  of  Samuel  to  Saul  in  the  cave  of  the 
witch  of  Endor.  Many  references  are  made  by  the  classic 
writers  to  the  mysteries,  especially  the  Eleusinian,  as 

the  hypnotic  theory,  or  of  some  other  being,  if  we  accept  the  trance-theory. 
The  result  is  that,  while  in  this  condition,  these  persons  sometimes  mani- 
fest a  degree  of  mental  culture  and  force  of  which  in  their  conscious  moods 
they  give  no  indications. 

A  telegram  from  San  Francisco,  published  in  most  of  the  newspapers  of 
January  21,  1897,  contained  the  following  :  "A  shock-headed  boy  of  fifteen, 
whose  school  days  have  been  limited  to  three  short  years,  and  whose  life 
has  been  passed  chiefly  in  a  little  country  town  in  Washington,  delivered  a 
lecture  here  last  night  upon  the  '  Different  Religious  Systems  of  the  World, 
Now  and  in  the  Past.'  Charles  Anderson  is  the  boy's  name.  He  was  born 
in  Cowlitz  County,  in  1882,  and  lived  there  until  two  months  ago.  When 
lecturing,  the  boy's  language  and  manners  seemed  to  belong  to  some  gray- 
haired  old  patriarch,  and  many  of  his  hearers  pronounced  the  discourse  a 
deep  and  learned  dissertation.  And  yet  his  conversation  reveals  a  woeful 
lack  of  education  and  he  can  scarcely  read.  Charles  says  he  has  been  able 
to  produce  his  condition  at  will,  and  though  unable  to  foretell  his  subject, 
he  is  able  to  remember  a  little  of  his  discourse  after  the  trance,  but  not 
enough  to  render  him  any  more  intelligent  in  his  everyday  life." 

The  author  himself  has  heard  from  the  lips  of  a  woman,  apparently  in- 
capable even  of  understanding  the  subject  discussed,  what  was  virtually — 
though  never  purporting  to  be  it,  nor  recognized  to  be  it,  so  far  as  he  knows, 
by  any  one  but  himself — the  cosmic  system  of  ancient  Gnosticism,  together 
with  the  main  propositions  of  the  Platonic  germ  which  this  seems  to  have  de- 
veloped,— all  presented  with  a  wealth  of  illustration,  information,  and  elo- 
quence which  he  does  not  hesitate  to  say  he  has  never  heard  equalled  by  any 
unpremeditated  effort  on  the  part  of  any  mind  working  normally.  That  the 
whole  discussion  was  foreign  to  the  woman's  natural  ability,  range  of 
thought,  and,  apparently,  belief,  was  proved  by  frequent  conversations  with 
her  when  in  her  normal  moods  ;  and  that  what  was  said  in  the  abnormal 
moods  was  unpremeditated  was  proved  by  frequent  questions  that  guided  the 


IO2      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

solving  questions  with  reference  to  the  future.  Were  they 
a  continuation  of  the  dark  seances  of  the  African  woods 
and  the  Egyptian  temples  ? — or  only  a  ritualistic  or  repre- 
sentative continuation  of  these?  As  for  the  actions  in 
the  open  daylight  of  those  supposed  to  be  possessed  by  a 
spirit,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  point  out  that  these  must 
have  been  very  similar  to  the  actions  of  the  Indian  fakirs 
and  of  the  Mohammedan  dervishes,  while  all  of  the 

course  of  her  presentation,  in  which  never,  on  different  occasions,  was  the 
same  phraseology  or  method  of  illustration  exactly  repeated.  However, 
what  was  said  in  this  way — though  it  was  all  upon  an  elevated  plane — was  not 
taken  by  the  author  for  indisputable  truth.  Why  not  ?  Partly  because  it  was 
impossible  for  any  one  to  determine  its  source.  It  might  have  come  from  a 
hypnotic  reading  of  that  which  was  stored  unconsciously  in  the  mind  of  the 
investigator,  though  this  seemed  improbable,  inasmuch  as  analogous  deliv- 
erances of  the  same  general  tenor  were  made  in  his  absence.  It  might 
have  come  from  that  which  was  stored  in  the  subconscious  mind  of  the  wo- 
man herself,  though  this,  too,  seemed  improbable,  inasmuch  as  she  would 
scarcely  have  been  interested  sufficiently  in  such  lines  of  thought  even  to 
have  read  of  them.  It  might  have  come  from  that  which  had  been  stored 
in  the  conscious  or  subconscious  mind  of  some  of  her  ancestors,  or  of  some 
living  person  at  a  distance,  or  even  been  subconsciously  read  from  some  book. 
Or  it  might  have  come,  as  the  woman  herself  supposed,  from  some  spirit ; 
yet,  even  so,  this  spirit  might  have  been — to  say  the  least — insufficiently  in- 
formed to  warrant  confidence  in  the  truth  of  the  things  uttered.  Only  two 
satisfactory  conclusions  could  be  drawn  from  the  circumstances.  First,  the 
same  as  that  which  will  be  argued  on  pages  122  to  127,  namely,  that  what- 
ever may  be  uttered  in  this  supernormal  way  must  be  judged  precisely  as  it 
would  be  if  uttered  in  a  normal  way  ; — that  is,  by  its  conformity  to  previous 
information,  and  to  the  results  of  intuitive  insight  and  logical  inference. 
The  other  conclusion  reached  was  this:  that  here,  presented  to  eyes  and  ears, 
in  the  nineteenth  century,  was  something  that  legitimately  suggested  the 
origin  not  only  of  Platonism  and  Gnosticism,  but  of  much  of  that  imagina- 
tively weird  cosmogony  of  the  ancients  which  has  ordinarily  been  attributed 
to  merely  the  Oriental  imagination,  and  even  of  Polytheism  as  developed 
among  such  civilized  people  as  the  ancient  Egyptians,  Greeks,  and  Romans. 
These  ancient  people  had  minds  as  intellectual  and  logical  as  our  own  ;  and 
one  may  be  sure  that  they  had  some  good  reasons  for  their  beliefs.  (See 


SACRED    WRITINGS.  103 

methods  indicated  are  apparently  repeated  in  "  modern 
spiritualism." 

Now,  let  us  notice  another  important  fact.  It  is  this : 
in  the  degree  in  which,  among  any  people,  the  intel- 
lect becomes  developed,  they  come  to  pay  less  heed  to 
mere  physical  phenomena — i.  e.,  to  abnormal  sights  and 
sounds,  contortions  of  the  body,  mysterious  rappings,  or 
workings  of  wonders — than  to  verbal  communications, 
sometimes  accompanying  and  sometimes  not  accompany- 
ing these,  which  communications,  because  verbal,  appeal 
more  exclusively  to  the  intellect.  Is  not  this  exactly  what 
we  should  expect  ?  A  man,  according  to  the  degree  of 

Pliny's  rational  discussion  of  spectres  in  his  letter  to  Sura,  B.  7  ;  xxvii.)  Al- 
most all  commentators  agree  that  the  words  of  Paul  in  Col.  ii.,  18,  "  Let  no 
man  beguile  you  of  your  reward  in  a  voluntary  humility  and  worshipping  of 
angels,  intruding  into  those  things  which  he  hath  not  seen,"  refer  to  Gnos- 
ticism, and  to  angel-worship  in  it.  Why,  therefore,  has  not  one  come 
upon  the  original  thing  who — in  connection  with  psychical  phenomena  and 
physical  transformations  which,  if  related,  would  not  be  credited  by  any 
one  who  had  not  seen  something  similar — has  heard  this  system  taught  at 
regular  intervals  to  people,  some  of  them  of  decided  intelligence,  who  be- 
lieved themselves  to  be  in  the  presence  of  a  very  superior  spirit  ?  Even 
supposing  these  people  to  have  been  completely  deluded,  why  could  not 
others,  in  similar  circumstances,  have  been  similarly  deluded  in  ancient  times? 
And  if  so,  notice  the  inference  not  only  with  reference  to  Gnosticism  but  to 
Polytheism  :  how  long  would  it  have  been  before  this  superior  spirit  would 
have  had  followers;  and  after  the  "medium"  through  whom  the  utter- 
ances were  received  had  passed  away,  how  long  would  it  have  been  before 
these  followers  would  have  conveyed  to  others,  with  all  the  suggestions  with 
which  imagination  would  naturally  augment  the  original  facts,  a  traditional 
belief  in  this  spirit  that  had  once  talked  to  them  ?  And  what  would  a  be- 
lief in  this  superior  spirit  and  its  teachings  be,  but  a  belief  in  what  the 
Greeks  meant  by  the  term  god, — not  the  Supreme  Being,  but  a  superior  be- 
ing, the  existence  of  whom  might  or  might  not  (from  some  of  the  literature 
of  the  Greeks  we  may  judge  that  it  did  not)  interfere  with  their  acknowl- 
edging One  supreme  being.  Does  not  this  line  of  thought  present  a  far 
more  natural  and  justifiable  theory  through  which  to  account  for  Polytheism 
than  is  usually  advocated  ? 


104      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

his  mental  development,  demands  particulars.  He  is  not 
satisfied  with  such  general  conceptions  concerning  the  exist- 
ence of  life  beyond  the  visible  as  alone  can  be  suggested 
through  physical  phenomena.  He  craves  to  hear  every- 
thing described  in  words.  He  desires  to  understand,  andr 
for  this  reason,  to  have  a  religion  that  will  appeal  with  the 
authority  not  only  of  the  subconscious  mind  but  of  the 
conscious  mind, — in  fact,  with  the  authority  of  the  whole 
rational  being.  Accordingly,  in  Greece  and  Rome  we 
find  religious  truth  attributed  mainly  to  the  utterances  of 
oracles  and  Sibyls ;  and  in  India  and  Eastern  Asia,  as 
well  as  among  the  Hebrews,  Mohammedans,  and  Christ- 
ians, attributed  to  sacred  writings. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that  even  these 
writings  are  generally  supposed  to  involve  an  exercise 
of  subconscious  intellection.  Their  authors  have  been 
almost  universally  represented  as  subject  to  influences 
exerted  through  the  subconscious  mind  in  other  ways. 
As  we  all  know,  this  is  claimed  to  have  been  true  of  many 
of  the  writers  of  the  Christian  Scriptures ;  and  not  only 
of  them,  but  of  Mohammed  and  Joseph  Smith ;  and  it 
is  Kant,  the  philosopher,  who  is  authority  for  the  trust- 
worthiness of  the  same  claim  as  made  by  Swedenborg, 
the  latter,  when  in  Denmark,  having,  according  to  Kant's 
testimony,  accurately  described  to  him  at  the  time  of 
their  occurrence,  certain  events — a  fire,  for  instance — tak- 
ing place  in  Stockholm.1  So  much  as  to  the  general  con- 
nection between  what  are  termed  sacred  writings  and  the 

1  A  similar  claim  is  made  also  by  the  essayist  mentioned  on  page  80. 
It  is  said  that,  some  years  before  the  essays  there  described  began  to  be 
written,  this  person,  who  had  been  for  many  years  an  invalid,  felt  one  day 
a  chill  coming  on,  and,  at  the  same  moment,  began  to  describe  a  supposed 
scene  outside  the  window, — an  Oriental  pasture-ground  and  a  shepherd  who 
apparently  took  possession  of  this  person's  body,  which,  rendered  perfectly 


DEGREE    OF   TRUTH  OCCULTLY  GIVEN.  1 05 

other  methods  in  which  effects  coming  from  or  through 
subconscious  agency  manifest  themselves. 

Just  here,  to  most  readers,  some  extremely  important 
questions  will  be  suggested.  These  concern  the  degree 
of  truth  that  may  be  supposed  to  be  derived  through  the 
methods  that  have  been  described.  Granted  that  to  these 
methods  certain  features  of  primitive  religion  may  be 
rightly  attributed,  how  far  may  the  substance  of  that 
which  is  thus  received  be  supposed  to  be  trustworthy ; 
and  by  what  means  may  any  man  or  set  of  men  determine 
its  trustworthiness?  These  are  questions  very  difficult  to 
answer.  How  difficult,  no  one  can  fail  to  perceive  who 
will  recall  the  conditions  determining  the  substance  of 
communications  thus  received,  as  indicated  on  page  69. 
It  may  be  said  that  those  acquainted  with  the  phenom- 
ena of  hypnotism,  and,  therefore,  with  the  operations  of 
the  subconscious  mind  as  disclosed — though  not  origi- 
nated— by  hypnotic  influences,  believe  themselves  to  have 
reasons  for  holding  that  all  processes  of  memory  and 
logic  are  developed  in  it  with  flawless  consistency. 
When,  for  instance,  a  hypnotized  patient  is  told  that  he 
is  George  Washington,  or  a  lightning  calculator  is  given 

rigid,  fell  to  the  floor.  The  attendant,  instead  of  being  allowed  to  tender 
assistance,  was  urged  to  take  a  pen  and  write  as  dictated.  What  was  dic- 
tated was  a  prediction,  which  came  true,  that,  from  that  hour,  there  should 
be  no  more  sickness,  and  that,  in  time,  something  of  practical  importance 
to  the  world,  which  subsequent  events  have  caused  to  be  associated  with 
these  essays,  should  be  revealed  through  the  agency  of  the  invalid.  As, 
too,  in  the  cases  of  Mohammed,  Swedenborg,  and  Smith,  this  person  does 
not  assume  to  have  been  influenced  to  supplant  Christianity,  but  merely  to 
interpret  and  develop  certain  phases  of  it.  The  whole  story,  which  reads 
like  a  leaf  torn  from  a  life  of  a  Joan  of  Arc,  the  author  himself  has  heard 
from  the  lips  both  of  the  person  receiving  these  communications  and — un- 
less in  this  one  regard  his  memory  fail  him — of  the  person  to  whom  the 
first  communication  was  dictated. 


106      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

a  problem  to  solve,  or  a  trance-speaker  is  made  to  impro- 
vise an  oration  or  a  poem,  the  result  never  seems  to  fail. 
It  is  like  that  which  might  come  from  a  perfectly  con- 
structed automatic  machine.  When,  however,  from  the 
method  of  development,  we  turn  to  ask  what  the  germ  is 
that  is  thus  developed,  we  find  that  this  depends,  in 
every  case,  upon  a  suggestion  given  by  the  hypnotizer. 
The  same  subconscious  mind,  when  given  suggestions 
entirely  antagonistic  in  meaning,  will  develop  each  of 
them  with  equal  consistency.  But  if  this  be  so,  why  does 
it  not  follow  that,  in  case  the  suggestion  be  untrue,  and 
the  premise  therefore  false,  the  entire  result  of  the  sub- 
conscious mental  action  will  be  false?  This  certainly 
does  follow.  A  hypnotized  man,  if  told  that  he  is  a 
bird,  will  act  in  one  way ;  then,  if  told  immediately 
afterwards  that  he  is  a  fish,  he  will  act  in  another  way, 
and  each  way  will  conform  to  his  own  conceptions  of  the 
mode  of  procedure  of  the  being  suggested.  An  insane 
man  who  supposes  himself  to  be  suffering  from  an 
injury  inflicted  by  a  friend,  or  to  be  a  king  or  an  animal, 
acts  exactly  as  he  might  act  had  he  been  permanently 
hypnotized.  He  can  often  remember  and  argue  certain 
points  with  great  accuracy,  but  he  applies  his  ability  to 
the  development  of  a  false  premise. 

Now  how,  in  a  case  of  hypnotism  or  insanity,  is  the 
truth  or  falsity  of  the  premise  upon  which  the  subconscious 
mind  is  working  to  be  determined  ?  How  but  by  the 
action  of  the  conscious  mind  ? — of  the  conscious  mind  of 
the  subject,  if  we  can  restore  him  to  his  normal  rational 
condition,  or,  if  not,  of  the  conscious  minds  of  others 
surrounding  him,  whose  judgment  must  decide  upon  the 
premise  submitted  ?  Evidently,  so  far  as  concerns  the 
hypnotic  or  insane  patient,  it  is  because,  for  the  time 


THE  S  UB  CON  SCI  0  US  DE  VEL  OPS  SUGGES  TIONS.      I O/ 

being,  his  conscious  mind  is  not  working,  that  he  is  a  vic- 
tim of  groundless  imaginings?  Now  how  is  it  with  re- 
ference to  one  who  is  in  a  trance-condition  ?  Is  not  his 
conscious  mind  too  in  a  condition  in  which  it  is  not  work- 
ing? And  if  so,  what  inference  must  we  draw?  Before 
answering  this  question  let  us  recall  that  many  attribute  all 
inspiration  to  trance-conditions  or  to  hypnotic  conditions, 
which,  in  many  of  their  manifestations,  cannot  be  distin- 
guished from  trance-conditions.  In  addition  to  this,  let 
us  also  recall  that  in  certain  countries,  as  in  India  and  in 
parts  of  Southern  Europe,  the  insane  or  idiotic,  for  the 
very  reason  that  they  manifest  few  results  of  conscious 
intellection,  are  supposed  to  be  peculiarly  gifted  in  the 
direction  of  inspiration  ;  and  also  that,  in  some  philosophic 
books,  insanity  is  allied  to  the  subconscious  intellection 
which  is  manifested  in  the  artistic  inspiration  of  genius. 
What,  upon  recalling  all  these  facts,  are  we  to  con- 
clude ?  Undoubtedly,  that  insanity,  hypnotism,  trance- 
conditions,  and  artistic  and  religious  inspiration,  all  involve, 
to  some  extent,  the  same  form  of  mental  action.  But  we 
need  not  go  beyond  this,  and  conclude  that  all  the  results 
of  this  form  of  mental  action  are  similarly  conditioned  or 
are  equally  untrustworthy.  The  exact  fact  seems  to  be 
that  their  trustworthiness  in  each  case  depends  upon  the 
premise  or  suggestion  which  forms  the  germ  from  which 
the  conscious  result  of  the  subconscious  process  is  devel- 
oped,— which,  by  the  way,  is  a  very  strong  argument,  as 
the  merest  tyro  in  logic  can  recognize,  for  the  importance 
of  having  external  religious  standards  of  belief  conforming 
as  nearly  as  possible  to  such  as  are  absolutely  true.  To  the 
insane,  surrounding  circumstances  acting  upon  diseased 
nerves  give  the  suggestion.  To  the  hypnotized,  the 
hypnotizer  gives  it.  To  the  one  in  a  trance,  the  persons 


108      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

consulting  him — i.  e.,  for  whom  he  goes  into  the  trance — 
may  give  it.  Even  though  consciously  they  may  give 
nothing,  nevertheless,  they  may  give  it  in  the  form  of  gen- 
eral impressions,  conveyed  from  their  subconscious  mental 
tendencies.  It  is  this  fact,  indeed,  that  affords  whatever 
warrant  there  may  be  for  the  claim  of  the  "  spiritualists  " 
that  those  who  consult  a  "  medium  "  with  the  intention  of 
finding  fraud  are  almost  certain  to  find  it.  In  such  cases 
the  "  medium  "  is  the  one  hypnotized,  and  they  are  the 
hypnotizers  who  furnish  the  suggestion.  In  fulfilment 
of  the  same  principle,  those  believing  strongly  in  Catholi- 
cism usually  hear,  when  consulting  a  clairvoyant,  no  doc- 
trines radically  inconsistent  with  their  general  belief ;  or 
if  they  be  Quakers,  none  radically  inconsistent  with  the 
opinions  of  Penn  ; :  or,  if  they  have  a  different  experience, 
this  fact  usually  furnishes  good  evidence  that,  at 
heart,  they  themselves  are  not  in  sympathy  with  their 
creed.  Of  course,  they  may  be  to  blame  for  this;  but 
in  the  degree  in  which  the  creed  is  erroneous,  they  must 
be  commended  ;  for  the  facts  show  that  they  are  more  in 
sympathy  with  truth  in  general  than  with  any  particular 
form  in  which  they  have  hitherto  received  it.  Indeed, 
in  case  a  mind  has  ever  been  wrongly  instructed,  it  is  only 
in  the  degree  in  which  it  is  absolutely  unbiased  that  it  can 

1  This  is  not  to  say  that  they  may  not  occasionally  hear  statements  which 
they  will  find  hard  to  reconcile  with  their  beliefs  ;  but  only  that,  if  so,  they 
will  be  left  to  recognize  the  discrepancy  for  themselves.  As  bearing  upon 
this  general  subject,  Alfred  Russel  Wallace  in  his  "  Miracles  and  Modern 
Spiritualism,"  pages  218  to  220,  says  that  conflicting  sectarian  dogmas  are 
sometimes  proclaimed  through  the  agency  of  "mediums";  but  he  claims 
that  these  are  never  given  except  avowedly  as  the  opinions  of  some 
individual  spirit,  and  that,  notwithstanding  them,  the  legitimate  inferences 
concerning  the  future  life  so  far  as  it  is  actually  described  are  in  all  cases, 
as  coming  from  all  "mediums,"  virtually  the  same. 


S  UB  CON  SCI  0  US  A  ND  CONSCIO  US  IN  TELLE  C  TION.      1 09 

obtain  from  one  in  a  trance-condition  anything  resembling 
absolute  truth. 

What  has  been  said  leads  inevitably  to  the  conclusion 
that  whatever  is  received  through  subconscious  agency 
is  liable  to  be  more  or  less  modified  by  thoughts  and 
feelings  in  some  conscious  mind.  This  conscious  mind 
may  be  either  that  of  the  person  who  is  being  influenced, 
or  inspired,  as  we  say,  by  or  through  his  own  subcon- 
scious intellection  ;  or  it  may  be  the  mind  of  another 
who,  through  the  combined  results  of  conscious  and  sub- 
conscious processes,  may  be  supposed  to  be  furnishing 
external  suggestions  to  the  inspired  person.  If  the 
conscious  mind  be  that  of  the  inspired  person  himself,  the 
trustworthiness  of  the  premise  which  he  develops  will 
depend  upon  his  own  intellectual  and  spiritual  attain- 
ments and  character.  Nothing  has  been  more  clearly 
proved  than  the  fact  thus  stated.  In  the  degree  in  which 
a  man  becomes  wise,  the  promptings  of  his  conscience, 
for  instance,  which  furnish  one  phase  in  which  sub-intel- 
lection manifests  itself,  coincide  with  the  deductions  of 
rational  judgment  and  inference.  Another  interesting 
fact  is,  that  in  the  degree  in  which  there  is  this  coincidence, 
i.  e.,  in  the  degree  in  which  the  deductions — always  logical, 
as  has  been  said — of  subconscious  intellection  are  ex- 
actly paralleled  by  those  of  conscious  intellection, — in 
this  degree  the  mind  itself  becomes  oblivious  of  any  dis- 
tinction between  conscious  and  subconscious  processes. 
It  is  a  man  not  of  high  but  of  low  intellectual  and  spirit- 
ual attainments  who  is  constantly  thinking  and  therefore 
talking  about  duty  and  conscience  ;  that  is  to  say,  duty  and 
conscience  as  such  present  their  claims  most  strongly  to 
the  mind  that  is  most  strongly  prompted  to  disregard 
them.  The  wise  and  good  desire  what  is  wise  and  good, 


110      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

and  in  pursuing  them  are  hardly  conscious  that  they  have 
a  conscience.  So  with  the  educated  and  refined  as  con- 
trasted with  their  opposites.  As  a  rule,  only  Indians  or 
Negroes,  at  least  the  comparatively  uncultivated,  recognize 
a  clear  distinction  between  the  results  in  their  own  minds 
of  conscious  and  of  subconscious  intellection.  In  the  de- 
gree in  which  a  man's  mentality  is  of  a  high  order,  or  has 
been  highly  developed,  he  ceases  to  talk  in  an  insane, 
trancelike,  or  even  absent-minded  way.  At  every  stage, 
he  seems  instinctively  to  hold  in  check  and  to  direct  the 
course  of  subconscious  logic  by  considerations  that  are  in 
conformity  with  fact  and  common  sense.  This  is  probably 
one  reason  why  the  ancient  Hebrews  were  forbidden  to 
consult  with  familiar  spirits  or  necromancers  (Deut.  xviii., 
10,  u),  as  well  as  why  it  is  said,  in  I  Cor.  xiv.,  32,  that 
"  the  spirits  of  the  prophets  are  subject  to  the  prophets." 
Now  notice  that  the  prophet  to  whom  the  spirits  are 
likely  to  be  most  subject  is,  as  a  rule,  a  writer.  For  he, 
as  a  rule,  is  a  thinker,  and  therefore  a  man  who,  however 
unconsciously  his  mind  may  work  at  times,  is  always 
more  or  less  under  the  influence  of  suggestions  from  the 
conscious  region,  even  if  merely  because  he  is  al- 
ways accustomed,  before  his  words  are  committed  to 
script,  to  review  and  correct  them.  This  is  true  even 
when  he  is  not  completely  aware  that  he  is  thus  re- 
viewing them.  Perhaps  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
no  thoroughly  cultivated  man  will  ever,  whatever  may 
be  the  sources  of  his  inspiration,  allow  his  thoughts 
to  leave  him  before  they  have  been  filtered  through 
the  clarifying  criticism  of  his  conscious  mind.  For  this 
reason,  sacred  literature  is  more  conformed  to  the  rational 
results  of  mental  action  than  is  any  other  form  of  religious 
influence. 


SACRED    WRITINGS.      ,  III 

Is  not  this  fact  sufficient  to  explain  the  remarkable  in- 
tellectual and  spiritual  progress  which  begins  to  charac- 
terize the  people  of  all  countries  just  as  soon  as  they 
begin  to  hold  the  theory  that  religious  truth  can  be 
wholly  or  chiefly  communicated  through  sacred  writings  ? 
A  peculiarity  of  the  Hebrew  religion  was  a  belief  in  the 
authority  of  a  traditional  written  law ;  and  the  people 
were  forbidden  to  consult  familiar  spirits  (Deut.  xviii., 
10,  u)  or  to  hearken  to  diviners  (Jer.  xxvii.,  9),  who, 
but  for  these  traditional  Scriptures,  would  probably  have 
been  the  chief  agents  of  religious  instruction.  The  result 
of  following  the  injunctions  of  a  written  law,  rather  than 
of  leaders  like  these,  was  a  cautious,  reflective,  calculating 
habit  of  mind  which  two  thousand  centuries  have  not 
sufficed  to  eradicate  from  the  character  of  the  race.  The 
same  characteristics  have  been  developed,  too,  among 
Protestant  Christian  nations,  causing  them,  in  this  regard, 
to  present  a  sharp  contrast  to  the  other  Christian  nations, 
with  whom  a  written  word  is  not  so  exclusively  authori- 
tative. A  similar  characteristic  is  evident  also  among 
the  people  of  China  and  Japan,  who  are  guided  by  the 
writings  of  Confucius,  as  contrasted  with  the  inhabitants 
of  Central  Asia  and  of  Africa,  where  sacred  books  have 
less  influence  than  have  fakirs  and  other  supposed  reli- 
gious wonder-workers. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS    ATTRIBUTABLE  TO   MENTAL    ACTION: 

RELIGIOUS   CONCEPTIONS   HAVING   THEIR   SOURCE 

IN   INSPIRATION;   ARTISTIC    IN   IMAGINATION. 

Form  of  Inspiration  partly  Dependent  on  the  Human  Mind  as  Developed 
by  Environments  of  Place  and  Time — This  Theory  Explains  the 
Gradual  Development  of  Truth  in  the  Revealed  Scriptures — Also  the 
Necessity  for  Spiritual  Discernment  :  no  Form  is  an  Adequate  and 
Complete  Expression  of  the  Spiritual — Tracing  all  Inspired  Writing  to 
or  through  the  Same  Subconscious  Mental  Processes  Need  not  Impair 
Authority  or  Authenticity  of  the  Scriptures — Nor  Need  the  Attributing 
of  Signs  and  Wonders  to  Sources  not  Divine — Conformity  of  this  View 
to  the  Theories  of  Modern  Biblical  Criticism — The  Three  Tests  of 
the  Truth  in  the  Scriptures  :  Conformity  to  Previous  Information — To 
Results  of  Intuitive  Insight — To  Results  of  Logical  Inference — 
Different  Views  of  Scriptural  Inspiration  Conformable  to  the  Theory 
here  Presented — Bearings  of  this  Subject  upon  Artistic  Sympathy,  the 
Zeit-Geist,  Imagination — Differences  between  Inspiration  and  Im- 
agination— Failure  to  Recognize  the  Differences  Detrimental  to  Both 
Religion  and  Art — Influence  of  Recognizing  it  upon  Opinions  Concern- 
ing Religion — Concerning  Art — Nevertheless  Art  Lessens  Materialism 
and  Traditionalism,  and  Aids  Religion,  but  is  not  a  Substitute  for  it — 
Religion  an  Aid  to  Art. 

A  CANDID  mind  must  admit  that  from  what  was  said 
"^^  at  the  end  of  the  chapter  just  closed, — even  from  the 
passage  quoted  from  I  Cor.  xiv.,  32,  "  The  spirits  of  the 
prophets  are  subject  to  the  prophets," — it  is  a  legitimate 
logical  inference  that  the  form  of  an  inspired  communica- 
tion must  depend  to  some  extent  upon  the  character  of  the 
minds  through  which  and  to  which  it  is  made  ;  moreover, 

112 


INSPIRATION  AND   ENVIRONMENT.  113 

that  this  form  must  be  affected  by  both  conscious  and  sub- 
conscious intellection  in  these  minds.  The  reason  for  this 
is  that  the  results  of  conscious  observation  of  external 
objects  and  events  are  constantly  being  stored  and  devel- 
oped in  the  subconscious  region,  and  furnishing  it  with 
its  material.  The  conditions,  therefore,  seem  to  indicate 
that  what  may  be  termed  the  formulation  of  inspiration  is 
always  liable  to  be  more  or  less  modified,  because  devel- 
oped under  the  influence  of  suggestions  coming  both 
from  the  mind  of  the  inspired  person  and,  sympatheti- 
cally, from  the  minds  of  those  to  whom  his  communica- 
tions are  given.  In  other  words,  it  seems  to  be  necessary 
to  admit  the  effect  upon  inspiration  of  environment, 
under  which  term  we  may  include  both  the  individual 
and  the  general  thought  of  one's  own  age,  and  not  only 
of  this,  but  of  former  ages,  of  which  the  thought  of  one's 
own  age  is  a  result. 

In  these  conditions  we  seem  to  find  a  needed  explanation 
for  those  who  argue — with  however  much  or  little  reason  it 
is  outside  the  province  of  this  essay  to  decide — that  the 
earlier  books  of  the  Bible  manifest  in  places  the  influences 
of  comparatively  low  domestic,  social,  ethical,  ecclesiasti- 
cal, and,  as  applied  especially  to  accuracy,  scientific  and 
historic  standards.  We  can  attribute  such  facts — if  we 
have  not  the  ability  or  data  to  prove  that  they  are  not 
facts — to  the  environments  of  him  through  whom  the  re- 
ligious influences  were  communicated.  It  seems,  too,  as 
if  this  were  a  more  satisfactory  explanation  of  what  is 
called  "  the  development  of  truth"  in  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments,  than  is  the  theory  that  ascribes  it  to  some 
plan  of  the  Almighty  such  as,  if  carried  out  by  a  man, 
would  involve — as  some  think — a  form  of  deception. 
Rather  than  to  foster  such  an  impression,  and  to  seem  to 

8 


114      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

attribute  to  the  Creative  Power  limitations  in  morality,  is 
it  not  better  to  attribute  the  result  to  limitations  in 
ability  ?  When  man  was  given  a  rational  intellect  and  a 
free  will,  to  say  nothing  of  a  material  body,  spiritual  in- 
fluence over  him  was  limited.  Why  is  it  not  logical  to 
infer  that  at  the  same  time,  and  for  the  same  reasons,  the 
possibility  of  holding  spiritual  communication  with  him 
was  limited  ?  If  so,  whether  the  substance  of  inspiration 
may  be  supposed  to  come  immediately  from  the  divine 
being,  or  mediately  through  other  intervening  intelli- 
gences, it  is  hardly  possible  to  conceive  that  its  highest 
and  broadest  significance  could  be  intelligible  to  the  low 
and  limited  capacity  of  the  human  mind  receiving  it,  or 
could  become  wholly  expressible  through  any  effort  of 
that  mind. 

To  a  certain  extent  this  view  must  be  conceded  to  be 
justifiable  by  a  large  number  of  very  orthodox  people,  if 
they  wish  to  be  logical.  Who  of  them  deny  that,  in  ac- 
cordance with  what  is  said  in  I  Cor.  ii.,  14,  the  truth  of 
the  Scriptures  must  be  "  spiritually  discerned  "  ?  But  what 
does  this  mean  except  that  the  inspired  element  is  under- 
neath the  phraseology  rather  than  in  it?  Indeed,  are 
not  all  the  words  in  it,  with  their  various  suggestions, 
more  or  less  results  of  the  thinking  processes,  conscious 
and  subconscious,  of  the  mind  that  is  the  medium  of  the 
spiritual  communication  ?  "  We  have  this  treasure,"  says 
Paul,  referring  in  2  Cor.  iv.,  7,  to  the  truth  that  may 
be  supposed  to  be  divine  and  absolute,  "  in  earthen  ves- 
sels." We  know  that  the  divine  purposes,  as  they  are 
manifested  in  other  earthen  vessels, — in  crystals,  flowers, 
and  animals, — are  not  embodied  with  unvarying  precision. 
Probably  no  diamond,  rose,  or  human  face  was  ever  dis- 
covered that  did  not  manifest  some  variation  from  that 


HUMAN  ELEMENT  IN  INSPIRA  TION.  \  \  5 

which  science  can  prove  to  be  its  typical  or  ideal  form. 
Now  if  these  material  objects  all  leave  some  of  their  ma- 
terial influence  upon  the  evident  divine  plan  to  shape 
them  in  accordance  with  a  divine  law,  why  should  not  the 
human  mind  also  leave  some  of  its  more  powerful  mental 
influence  upon  the  truth  which  it  receives,  transmits,  and, 
to  a  certain  extent,  interprets  ?  The  fact  that  the  mind 
does  this,  may  render  the  truth  less  comprehensible  and 
definite,  but  it  need  not  render  it  less  apprehensible  and 
determinant.  As  applied  to  other  matters,  when  a  person 
urges  us  to  a  course  of  justice,  or  wisdom,  or  warns  us  of 
danger  or  folly,  we  have  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  the 
truth  of  his  appeal,  notwithstanding  manifestations  of 
even  great  exaggeration  and  inaccuracy  of  statement,  so 
far  as  concern  details  of  emphasis  and  recollection.  We  at 
once  separate  the  significance  of  what  he  has  to  say  from 
that  which  he  has  formulated,  i.  e.,  the  spirit  of  his  expres- 
sion from  the  letter  of  it,  clearly  recognizing  that  the  de- 
fects in  this  latter  are  attributable  to  his  own  mental 
limitations,  and  do  not  materially  affect  that  which  to 
him  constitutes  the  essential  part  of  the  communication. 
Why  should  not  the  same  principle  apply  to  some  extent 
at  least — even  though  complete  investigation  may  show 
that  it  is  never  necessary  to  resort  to  it  to  the  extent 
which  some  imagine — to  that  which  may  be  supposed  to 
be  received  through  inspiration  ? 

It  is  sometimes  thought,  especially  in  Christian  commu- 
nities, that  a  mere  suggestion  that  all  conceivable  results 
of  inspiration,  and,  therefore,  of  any  form  of  revealed  re- 
ligion, may  be  traceable  to  or  through  exactly  identical 
possibilities  of  occult  mental  action, — especially  when 
this  suggestion  involves,  in  all  cases  though  in  different 
degrees,  identical  conditions  of  limitation, — seriously 


Il6      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

impairs  a  belief  in  the  authenticity  and  authority  of  any 
sacred  writings,  if  it  does  not  entirely  deprive  the  world 
of  any  trustworthy  standards  of  faith  and  practice.  Let 
us  consider,  for  a  little,  whether  this  opinion  is  justifiable. 
To  begin  with,  is  it  not  a  fact  that  the  vast  majority  of 
those  who  reject  the  teachings  of  the  Bible,  do  so  be- 
cause at  heart  materialists?  And  are  they  not  materi- 
alists largely  because  they  fail  to  recognize  that  there  is 
any  subconscious,  or  hidden,  mental  nature,  or  any  conse- 
quent possibility  of  its  being  influenced  from  a  spiritual  or 
hidden  source  ?  Did  they  realize  these  facts,  and,  there- 
fore, the  fact  that  the  method  of  receiving  truth  repre- 
sented in  the  Scriptures  is  not  out  of  analogy  with  things 
that,  with  reasonable  frequency,  fall  to  the  lot  of  human 
experience  in  other  directions,  might  not  the  chief  cause 
of  their  doubts  be  removed  ?  And  if  this  cause  were 
removed,  might  not  the  acceptance  of  the  plausibility  of 
the  general  fact  of  inspiration  preserve  for  the  theologian 
a  large  number  of  arguments  otherwise  not  available  with 
which  to  substantiate  important  subordinate  propositions? 
But,  says,  perhaps,  the  objector,  the  view  that  has  been 
presented  implies  that  the  mind  acts  according  to  the 
same  method  when  coming  into  possession  both  of  that 
which  is  religiously  true,  and  of  that  which  is  religiously 
false ;  and  this  view  tends  to  lessen  the  relative  esteem  in 
which  one  should  regard  the  former.  At  first  thought, 
this  inference  is  natural,  perhaps,  but  will  it  stand  the 
test  of  reflection  ?  To  say  that,  in  both  cases,  the  method 
of  receiving  the  truth  is  the  same,  is  not  to  say  that  the 
truth  itself  is  the  same.  Because  we  receive  information 
about  both  cold  stone  and  red-hot  iron  through  the  same 
sense  of  touch,  it  does  not  follow  that  the  things  felt  are 
the  same,  or  affect  us  similarly.  What  we  are  trying  to 


DIVINE  INSPIRATION  AND    THE    OCCULT.         1 1/ 

show  is  that  there  is  a  method  of  becoming  acquainted  with 
objective  influences  that  does  not  necessitate  communica- 
tion through  one  of  the  five  physical  senses.  To  acknow- 
ledge the  existence  of  this  method,  does  not  involve 
acknowledging  the  equal  trustworthiness  of  all  things 
communicated  through  the  method.  It  does  not  involve 
ranking  every  mind-reader  or  "  medium  "  with  the  great 
prophets.  The  partial  analogies  that  may  be  perceived 
between  the  influence  exerted  by  Christianity  and  by  hyp- 
notism do  not  involve  rating  the  two  as  the  same.  But 
they  do  involve  a  recognition  of  the  use  of  similar  mental 
possibilities  in  both  cases.  They  do  involve  this  very  logi- 
cal conclusion  of  common  sense, — that  only  in  the  degree 
in  which  men  realize  that  there  is  some  method  of  influen- 
cing them  through  an  objective  appeal  of  which  they  be- 
come conscious  not  from  without  but  from  within,  can 
they  realize  that  the  kingdom  of  God — though  there  may 
be  much  there  besides  this — is,  as  stated  in  Luke  xvii.,  21, 
within  them. 

But  this  line  of  argument,  the  objector  may  say  again, 
involves  an  admission  that  not  only  revealed  words,  but 
"  signs  and  wonders "  that  accompany  and  attest  the 
authority  of  these  words,  are  common  to  all  religions  ;  and 
are  not  necessarily  fraudulent  in  inferior  religions.  Yes  ; 
but  is  this  admission  dangerous?  Is  it  not  more  danger- 
ous to  hold  an  opposite  theory  ?  Would  you  have  people 
accept  as  true  what  a  man  says,  merely  because  he  works 
what  seem  to  be  miracles  ?  Magicians,  hypnotizers,  mind- 
readers,  clairvoyants,  fortune-tellers,  all  do  this,  and  some 
of  them  who  can  tell  with  remarkable  accuracy  numbers 
of  things  that  one  has  done  in  the  past,  as  well  as  what 
is  going  on  at  a  distance,  frequently  make  statements 
that  are  utterly  untrustworthy  when  referring  to  the  most 


Il8      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

ordinary  occurrences.  What  would  be  the  result  if  the 
words  of  such  were  taken  for  the  eternal,  the  infinite,  and 
the  absolute  truth?  Many  of  us  refuse  to  follow  the 
ecclesiastical  guidance  of  Joseph  Smith,  the  founder  of 
the  Mormon  faith.  Yet  much  of  his  influence  is  attrib- 
utable to  the  fact  that  he  was  a  successful  reader  of  experi- 
ence, character,  and  thought  through  a  "  peep-stone." 
Which  theory  would  conventional  Christians  have  had  a 
right  to  consider  the  more  dangerous  to  the  regions  visited 
by  him, — that  which  denies  the  existence  of  a  method  of 
mental  action  like  his  unless  one  is  divinely  inspired, 
or  that  which  admits  its  existence  even  where  there  is  no 
divine  inspiration  ? 

It  seems  as  if  here,  at  least,  the  writers  of  the  Bible 
were  right.  They  do  not  deny  that  the  witch  of  Endor, 
or  Simon  Magus,  could  produce  genuinely  supernormal 
results.  They  admit  that  the  wise  men  and  the  sorcerers 
of  Egypt  "  did  in  like  manner  with  their  enchantments  " 
to  Moses  (Ex.  vii.,  n).  But  truth  is  not  therefore  attrib- 
uted to  the  utterances  of  such  characters.  There  is  a 
clear  intimation  that,  though  "  signs  and  wonders  "  may 
legitimately  call  attention  to  a  religious  leader,  there  are 
better  ways  through  which  to  assure  oneself  of  the  truth 
of  his  utterances.  "  Blessed  are  they,"  said  Jesus,  "  that 
hear  the  word  of  God,  and  keep  it.  An  evil  generation 
.  .  .  seek  a  sign  "  (Luke  xi.,  28,  29).  "  Believe  not  every 
spirit,"  even  though  it  be  a  spirit,  says  John,  "  but  try  the 
spirits  whether  they  are  of  God  "  (i  John  iv.,  i). 

Waiving  for  a  little  the  question  most  directly  sug- 
gested by  these  last  quotations,  it  may  be  well  at  this 
place  to  point  out  that  the  conception  of  inspiration  and 
its  relationships  which  is  here  being  presented  not  only 
conforms  to  the  statements  of  the  Christian  Scriptures, 


MODERN  BIBLICAL    CRITICISM.  119 

but  affords  a  strictly  logical  method  of  reconciling  that 
higher  form  of  inspiration  which  is  found  in  them,  with 
the  theories  of  the  most  advanced  Biblical  criticism. 
These  theories  one  need  not  himself  accept  in  order  to 
recognize  the  importance,  in  view  of  the  many  who  have 
accepted  them,  of  showing  that  they  do  not  necessitate  a 
rejection  of  the  authoritative  character  of  the  writings  to 
which  they  apply.  The  reason  why  they  are  sometimes 
supposed  to  necessitate  this,  is  that,  according  to  them, 
many  of  the  books  of  the  Bible,  instead  of  being,  as 
was  formerly  supposed,  consecutive  and  original,  were 
compiled  from  different  writings  existing  previously  to 
the  time  when  they  were  arranged  as  at  present.  It 
is  held,  moreover,  that  these  previous  writings  were  not 
only  of  Hebraic  origin,  as  indicated  in  such  passages 
as  Joshua  x.,  13,  "  Is  not  this  written  in  the  book  of 
Jasher  ?  "  or  as  I  Kings  xi.,  41,  "  And  the  rest  of  the  acts  of 
Solomon  and  all  that  he  did,  and  his  wisdom,  are  they  not 
written  in  the  book  of  the  acts  of  Solomon?"  but  that 
they  were  often  of  Gentile  origin.  The  first  two  chapters 
of  the  book  of  Genesis,  for  instance,  are  said  to  contain 
two  separate  accounts  of  the  creation,  in  the  first  of  which 
the  word  used  for  God  is  invariably  the  Hebraic  equiva- 
lent for  Elohim,  a  plural  title  for  the  Almighty  adopted 
by  the  Hebrews  from  other  languages,  and  in  the  second 
is  invariably  the  Hebraic  equivalent  for  Jehovah,  the 
peculiar  title  of  the  God  of  the  Jews.  The  first  of  these 
accounts,  too,  is  said  to  have  been  discovered  among  the 
ancient  Chaldean  records,  though  mixed  there  with  many 
childish  legends  and  polytheistic  explanations.  It  is 
claimed  that  the  compiler  of  the  book  of  Genesis  repro- 
duced this  account,  leaving  out  the  legends,  or  at  least 
those  from  which  important  spiritual  lessons  could  not  be 


120      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

drawn  (see  page  42),  and  making  the  explanations  mono- 
theistic. Can  such  a  claim  be  reconciled  with  a  theory  of 
inspiration  that  shall  continue  to  render  these  books 
authoritative?  Evidently,  according  to  the  view  pre- 
sented in  this  chapter,  it  can  be.  For,  in  the  first  place, 
according  to  this  view,  inspiration  may  exist  among  any 
people.  The  general  order  of  creation  may  have  been 
perceived  by  some  Chaldean  seer — possibly  later,  with 
the  same  result,  by  a  Hebraic — in  the  manner  suggested 
in  the  note  at  the  bottom  of  this  page  l  ;  and  if  so,  there 
would  be  truth  in  the  gene-ral  outlines.  But,  in  the  second 

1  William  Denton,  who  was  at  one  time  the  State  Geologist  of  Massachu- 
setts, in  his  book  entitled  "The  Soul  of  Things,"  gives  accounts  of 
hundreds  of  experiments  in  what  he  calls  psychometry.  In  this  the  subcon- 
scious mind  seems  to  derive  a  suggestion  from  a  material  object,  and  to  be 
influenced  to  make  explorations  into  its  past  in  a  manner  somewhat  analo- 
gous to  that  in  which  the  mind  of  the  physician  mentioned  on  page  74  ex- 
plores the  distant.  He  found  that  certain  persons  were  what  he  termed 
"sensitives."  Into  the  hands  of  these  he  would  place  a  particular  object 
without  letting  them  see  it  ;  and  they  would  then  describe  it  and  give  its 
history.  For  instance,  he  would  put  lava  into  the  hands  of  a  child  ignor- 
ant of  its  character,  and  this  child  would  describe  the  whole  process  of  its 
formation  from  a  volcano.  The  author  of  this  book  has  placed  letters  in  the 
hands  of  persons  of  this  kind,  who,  without  opening  them,  have  not  only 
determined  their  contents,  but  have  accurately  described  the  characters  of 
their  writers  and  the  localities  from  which  the  letters  were  sent.  One 
of  these  persons  is  said  to  have  described  in  this  manner  the  experience  of 
a  nail,  all  the  way  from  the  mine,  whence  its  iron  was  taken,  through  its 
voyages  in  a  battleship  to  a  sea-fight.  It  seems  useless  to  argue  any  ques- 
tion with  one  who  denies  that  a  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  such  methods 
of  mental  action,  does  not  materially  assisj;  the  mind  in  conceiving  how 
the  series  of  pictures  in  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis,  describing  successive 
stages  in  the  creation  of  the  world,  which  no  man  could  ever  have  seen, 
might  have  been  composed.  Nor  does  it  lessen,  but  increase  a  true  con- 
ception of  divine  inspiration,  to  find  some  way,  as  in  this  case,  of  making 
its  possibilities  more  comprehensible.  When  the  divine  mind  works  through 
human  agency,  it  is  not  only  appropriate  for  us,  but  incumbent  upon  us  as 
rational  beings,  to  try  to  ascertain  the  methods  of  this  agency. 


MODERN  BIBLICAL    CRITICISM.  121 

place,  according  to  this  view,  wherever  inspiration  exists, 
the  conscious  mind  of  the  seer  or  interpreter  is  apt  to 
modify  it.  This  fact  may  account  for  any  number  of  addi- 
tions, mythological  or  polytheistic,  made  to  the  inspired 
matter  either  by  the  Chaldean  seers  themselves,  or  by  the 
priests  who  handed  down  their  utterances.  But  the  same 
fact  may  also  account  for  the  omission  of  myths,  and  the 
substitution  of  the  monotheistic  theory,  on  the  part  of 
the  Hebraic  compilers.  We  all  know  that  certain  minds, 
when  a  complicated  mixture  of  fact  and  fiction  is  pre- 
sented to  them,  manifest  peculiar  facility  in  separating 
the  one  from  the  other,  and  bringing  to  light  the  truth. 
Most  of  us  feel,  too,  if  we  do  not  know,  that  such  minds 
reach  their  conclusions  through  work  that  is  not  done 
wholly  in  the  region  of  consciousness.  They  reach  them 
intuitively,  as  we  say,  which  is  the  same  as  to  attribute 
them  in  part  to  the  mental  processes  that  are  hidden.  If, 
in  the  selection  and  arrangement  of  written  records,  these 
mental  processes  took  place  in  the  mind  of  one  in 
thorough  sympathy  with  the  Source  of  all  truth,  and 
while  developing  suggestions  derived  from  this  Source, 
why  might  not  the  result  conform  completely  to  that 
which  is  demanded  in  inspiration  ?  Why  should  there  be 
any  greater  difficulty  in  ascribing  inspiration  to  the  selec- 
tion and  arrangement  of  prehistoric  matter,  as  in  the  book 
of  Genesis,  than  of  historic  matter,  as  in  the  books  of  the 
Kings?  And,  once  more,  going  back  to  the  main  pro- 
position advanced  in  this  chapter,  why  should  we  not 
suppose  that,  in  this  prehistoric  matter  itself,  there  should 
be  certain  results  of  inspiration  which,  when  selected  and 
arranged  by  the  inspired  compiler,  would  have  just  as 
much  authority  as  could  be  assigned  to  original  docu- 
ments? It  is  outside  the  province  of  this  essay  to  discuss 


122      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

the  degree  of  verity  underlying  the  theories  of  the  modern 
Biblical  critic  as  contrasted  with  those  of  his  more  con- 
servative opponents ;  but  it  is  not  outside  of  the  province 
of  any  essay  that  attempts  to  get  down  to  the  bottom  of 
any  subject  to  show,  if  possible,  that  the  hypothesis  pre- 
sented is  broad  enough  to  cover  all  the  surface  on  which 
any  theory  can  be  honestly  and  consistently  constructed 
— hence  the  excuse  for  this  paragraph. 

Now  let  us  return  to  the  suggestions  derivable  from 
the  quotations  at  the  end  of  the  paragraph  on  page  118. 
These  suggestions  we  shall  find  important,  especially  in 
view  of  what  some  may  consider  the  too  great  conces- 
sions just  made  to  the  claims  of  modern  Biblical  critics. 
Broadly  interpreted,  the  expressions,  "  Blessed  are  they 
that  hear  the  word  of  God  and  keep  it,"  "  An  evil  genera- 
tion .  .  .  seek  a  sign,  "and  "  Believe  not  every  spirit,"  even 
though  it  be  a  spirit,  "  but  try  the  spirits  whether  they  be 
of  God,"  can  have  but  one  meaning;  and  this  is  that  men 
should  test  a  statement,  even  though  coming  from  an 
acknowledged  spiritual  source,  precisely  as  they  would  a 
statement  coming  from  any  other  source.  And  how 
would  they  test  this?  Mainly,  it  may  be  said,  in  three 
ways  :  by  its  conformity  to  the  results  in  consciousness, — 
first,  of  previous  information  ;  second,  of  intuitive  insight, 
and,  third,  of  logical  inference,  as  determined  according  to 
the  laws  of  evidence  and  of  argument.  In  the  Scriptures, 
all  three  methods  are  recognized  as  legitimate.  Here  is 
what  is  said  of  the  first  of  them:  "  Hereby  know  ye" 
says  John  (i  John  iv.,  2),  "the  spirit  of  God:  Every 
spirit  that  confesseth  that  Jesus  Christ  is  come  in  the 
flesh  is  of  God."  "  Let  that  therefore  abide  in  you 
which  ye  have  heard  from  the  beginning"  (i  John  ii.,  24). 
"Though  .  .  .  an  angel  from  heaven,"  says  Paul  (Gal.  i.,  8), 


THE    TESTS   OF   TRUTH.  12$ 

"  preach  any  other  gospel  unto  you  than  that  which  we 
have  preached  unto  you,  let  him  be  accursed."  The  gen- 
eral principle  underlying  such  injunctions  is  almost  self- 
evident.  It  is  this :  The  individual  has  time  to  discover 
and  develop  comparatively  little  ;  he  must  avail  himself  of 
that  which,  through  revelation  or  reflection,  has  been 
attained  by  others  who  may  be  considered  to  have  been, 
on  the  whole,  accurate  in  their  observations,  honest  in 
their  convictions,  candid  in  their  representations,  and 
wise  in  their  conclusions.  In  a  general  way,  this  may  be 
said  to  necessitate  every  one's  having  what  may  be 
termed  intellectual  charity.  Exercised  toward  the  beliefs 
of  his  ancestors,  and  in  an  ecclesiastical  direction,  this 
charity  might  make  a  man  a  churchman,  and  zealous  in 
training  the  young  in  the  tenets  of  his  church  ;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  exercised  toward  the  beliefs  of  strangers  or 
of  adherents  of  other  sects  or  religions,  the  two  methods 
of  testing  truth  yet  to  be  considered  would,  of  them- 
selves, cause  him  to  recognize  mental  rights  to  a  sufficient 
extent  to  keep  him  from  being  a  bigot.  But  some  may 
ask  how,  if  we  apply  the  first  test,  can  we  also  apply 
the  second  and  third  tests ;  in  other  words,  how  can  one 
let  that  "abide"  in  him  which  he  has  "heard  from  the 
beginning,"  and  yet,  while  doing  this,  not  surrender  his  in- 
dividual exercise  of  intuitive  insight,  or  logical  inference? 
In  this  way,  as  it  seems :  According  to  what  was  said  on 
page  66,  that  which  is  received  from  without  the  mind, 
when  left  to  take  its  natural  course, — i.  e.,  when  left  to 
influence  one's  spirit  in  the  way  in  which  nature  has  pro- 
vided that  the  spirit  should  be  influenced, — sinks  into  the 
region  of  unconsciousness.  Here,  digested,  so  to  speak, 
by  the  mind,  and  incorporated  into  its  working  organism, 
the  importations  from  without  become  a  part  of  the 


124      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

subconscious  material,  giving  inevitable  bias  to  each  sub- 
conscious prompting.  For  this  reason  they  may  be  said  to 
be  constantly  operative  in  the  mind.  But  they  are  not 
operative  in  any  such  way  as  to  interfere  with  the  con- 
scious freedom  of  the  mind,  whether  exercised  in  forming 
judgments  or  in  drawing  conclusions.  In  Chapter  IX.,  it 
will  be  shown  that  a  man  of  faith  is  one  who  is  governed  by 
his  subjective  promptings,  and,  in  this  sense,  by  that  which 
has  been  "  heard  from  the  beginning,"  and  which  gives  bias 
to  these ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  will  be  shown  that  he 
must  exercise  the  conscious  powers  of  his  mind  fully  as 
much  as  others  who  have  no  faith.  His  mind  works 
differently  from  theirs  solely  in  being  "  not  disobedient 
unto  the  heavenly  vision  "  (Acts  xxvi.,  19),  in  giving  not 
only  due,  but  chief  consideration  to  the  spiritual  side  of 
life — to  motives  that  come  from  the  realm  within,  from 
the  ideal ;  whereas  the  others  do  not  give  these  the  chief 
consideration,  being  influenced  almost  exclusively  from 
the  material  side  of  life,  from  that  which  is  outward  and 
real.  The  great  religious  leaders — Augustine  and  Savon- 
arola not  only,  but  Jesus  as  well — have  been  characterized 
not  by  any  neglect  of  the  results  of  intuitive  insight  or 
of  logical  inference,  but  by  a  conscientious  endeavor  to 
subordinate  and  conform  these  to  that  which  has  been 
"  heard  from  the  beginning."  They  have  sought  to 
develop  this  latter,  and  not  to  destroy  it.  They  have 
been  conservative  as  well  as  progressive.  They  have 
tried  to  graft  the  new  upon  the  old,  and  thus  to  reform 
rather  than  to  revolutionize.  If  we  grasp  this  conception 
of  the  subject,  we  shall  perceive  that  an  application  of 
the  test  that  we  have  been  considering  need  not  interfere 
with  an  application  of  the  tests  that  are  to  follow.  The 
most  conscientious  and  conservative  mind,  when  working 


THE    TESTS   OF    TRUTH.  12$ 

normally,  can  be  governed  by  that  which  has  "  been 
heard  from  the  beginning,"  and  yet  be  influenced  not  by 
precept  but  by  principle,  and,  being  so,  can  carry  this 
latter  out  not  according  to  the  letter  but  according  to  the 
spirit,  and  therefore  so  as  not  in  any  sense  to  make  the 
41  word  of  God,"  communicated  in  any  other  way,  "of 
none  effect  through  "  mere  •"  tradition  "  (Mark  vii.,  13). 

This  last  quotation  may  well  introduce  the  second  test 
of  truth  mentioned  on  page  122,  namely,  that  afforded  by 
the  conformity  of  results  to  those  of  intuitive  insight. 
"  Blessed  are  they,"  said  Jesus  (Luke  xi.,  28),  "  that  hear 
the  word  of  God  and  keep  it,"  i.  e.,  without  any  other  evi- 
dence. "  An  evil  generation  .  .  .  seek  a  sign  "  (Luke  xi., 
29) ;  and  the  method  of  the  apostles  is  said  to  have  been 
"by  manifestation  of  the  truth  commending"  themselves 
"  to  every  man's  conscience  "  (2  Cor.  iv.,  2).  The  idea  here 
seems  to  be  that  truth  can  be  determined  at  times  by 
its  own  inherent  quality.  Indeed,  for  other  reasons,  one 
might  almost  be  justified  in  holding  a  theory  that  a  mind 
working  normally  should  recognize  the  difference  between 
truth  and  error  as  inevitably  as  a  tongue  recognizes  the 
difference  between  the  sweet  and  the  bitter.  Of  course, 
the  trustworthiness  of  this  theory  can  never  be  fully 
tested,  because,  as  a  fact,  the  mind  seldom  or  never  does 
work  normally.  Consciously  or  unconsciously,  it  is  con- 
stantly under  the  influence  of  false  standards  of  thought 
and  action,  causing  false  conceptions  of  what  causes  truth 
to  be  of  authority,  and  mistaken  endeavors  to  make  the 
information  freshly  presented  conform  to  falsehood  al- 
ready accepted.  Notwithstanding  this,  it  is  probably  a  fact 
that  absolute  truth  is  attained  mainly  in  the  degree  in 
which  men  who  lead  the  world  to  the  appreciation  and 
application  of  new  phases  of  the  truth,  as  well  as  the 


126      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

followers  of  such  men,  are  largely  inclined  to  judge  of  it 
intuitively  ;  and  that  no  other  method,  if  conscientiously 
applied,  can  so  well  preserve  men  in  times  of  either  relig- 
ious decline  or  progress  from  ecclesiastical  imposition  on 
the  one  hand  or  "  spiritualistic  "  superstition  on  the  other. 
The  third  test  of  truth  was  said  to  be  conformity  to 
the  results  of  logical  inference  or  reasoning.  "  Let  us 
reason  together,"  says  Isaiah  in  Is.  i.,  18,  and  give  a  "rea- 
sonable service,"  urges  Paul  in  Rom.  xii.,  i.  A  result 
may  be  rendered  reasonable  in  many  different  ways, — 
chiefly,  perhaps,  by  being  made  to  fulfil  the  laws  of  argu- 
ment or  of  evidence,  as  applied  either  to  the  substance  of 
an  utterance,  or  to  the  character  of  its  utterer,  as  mani- 
fested in  either  words  or  actions.  "  Believe  me,"  said  Jesus 
to  Philip,  "  ...  or  else  believe  me  for  the  very  work's 
sake  "  (  John  xiv.,  1 1).  But  to  whatever  this  test  of  logical 
inference  may  be  applied,  it  is  a  test  which  the  mind  is 
always  ready  to  assume  that  it  has  a  right  to  apply. 
Who  ever  heard  a  sermon  in  the  most  bigoted  of  sects  the 
whole  object  of  which  was  not  to  show  the  accordance  of 
some  statement  in  a  text  with  not  only  the  previous  in- 
formation of  the  audience  concerning  its  subject  or  other 
subjects,  and  with  the  intuitive  promptings  of  conscience, 
but  also  with  conclusions  logically  deducible  from  an  ex- 
amination of  testimony  and  argument  ?  But  if  we  may 
judge  of  truth  according  to  these  last  two  tests,  some  one 
may  ask  what  are  we  to  do  with  inspired  statements  to 
which  neither  test  can  be  applied,  with  statements  con- 
cerning matters  beyond  the  reach  of  human  insight  or 
reasoning,  with  statements  which  have  to  be  accepted 
upon  faith  ?  The  answer  is  that  one  holding  the  theory  just 
presented  would  have  to  accept  such  statements  for  the 
same  reason  that  causes  any  one  else  to  accept  them. 


SOURCES    OF   INSPIRATION.  127 

The  strongest  argument  in  favor  of  them,  is  that  the 
matters  to  which  such  statements  refer  form  a  part  of  a 
general  system  of  belief  and  that  a  system  which  can  be 
proved  to  be  true  as  a  whole,  must  be  true  in  its  parts  ; 
and  the  force  of  this  argument  cannot  be  lessened  by 
applying  to  such  statements  as  are  submitted  to  proof, 
arguments  which,  while  differing  from  those  ordinarily 
presented,  are  really  more  conclusive. 

The  three  tests  just  indicated,  when  applied  to  scrip- 
tural truth,  will  prove  it  abundantly  able  of  itself  to  main- 
tain any  authority  that  it  may  need.  Let  us  pass  on 
now  to  notice — as  a  legitimate  inference  from  this  whole 
discussion — that  subconscious  intellection  may  be  mani- 
fested in  many  more  ways  than  when  revealing  immedi- 
ate divine  instrumentality.  Some  may  attribute  all 
conceptions  thus  received  to  the  action  merely  of  the  sub- 
conscious mind  of  the  utterer  making  suggestions  to  his 
conscious  mind  ;  and  some  may  attribute  them  to  the  ac- 
tion, either  conscious  or  subconscious,  of  the  minds  of 
others  influencing  the  utterer's  subconscious  mind  and, 
through  it,  his  conscious  mind.  Evidently  neither  of 
these  views  conceives  of  the  religious  as  anything  beyond 
the  possibility  of  the  artistic.  That  which  does  separate 
the  two  is  the  attributing  of  certain  manifestations  of 
subconscious  influence  to  a  power  higher  than  that  of 
man.  Nor  do  all  who  attribute  them  to  this,  agree  as  to 
the  source  from  which  they  come.  Some  hold  that  they 
come  from  spirits  who  formerly  inhabited  the  earth  ;  others 
that  they  come  from  intelligences  of  a  different  order 
from  those  that  have  lived  on  the  earth  ;  and  others  that 
they  come  immediately  from  the  Deity.  The  first  is  the 
view  of  the  modern  "  spiritualists  "  ;  the  second  the  view 
of  many,  both  "  spiritualists "  and  Christians,  especially 


125       REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

Catholics,  and  the  third  is  the  view  of  the.  orthodox 
Protestants.  The  Bible,  in  mentioning  the  reappearance 
of  Moses  and  Elias  (  Matt,  xvii.,  3),  and  the  appearances 
of  angels  of  God  (Acts  xxvii.,  23),  as  well  as  of  the  Lord 
( Jer.  xxxi.,  3),  and  of  God  (2  Chron.  i.,  7)  seems  to  sanc- 
tion all  three  views.  Even  this  fact,  however,  though  ac- 
knowledged, does  not  reconcile  the  conservative  Christian 
to  "  spiritualism."  Because  of  the  passage  in  Rev.  xxii.,  18, 
"  For  I  testify  unto  every  man  that  heareth  the  words  of 
the  prophecy  of  this  book,  If  any  man  shall  add  unto 
these  things  God  shall  add  unto  him  the  plagues  that  are 
written  in  this  Book,"  which  passage  is  taken  to  refer  not 
merely  to  the  Book  of  the  Revelation,  but  to  the  whole 
Scriptures,  he  maintains  that  all  that  can  be  appropriately 
termed  revelation  has  ceased.  To  account,  however,  for 
cases  in  which  new  doctrines  have  apparently  been  pro- 
claimed, some  Episcopalians  and  all  Roman  Catholics  hold 
that  the  officials  of  the  church,  individually,  or  assembled 
in  lawful  councils,  are  divinely  guided  to  interpret  the 
truth  "  once  delivered  "  ;  and  certain  of  the  latter  church 
that  the  Pope  is  peculiarly  inspired  to  develop  this  truth 
even  to  the  extent,  in  connection  with  the  councils  of 
the  church,  of  giving  it  unforetokened  meanings.  The 
inspired  authority  to  develop  the  truth,  thus  attributed  to 
the  Pope  and  councils,  is  paralleled  by  a  somewhat  similar 
authority  attributed  by  Mohammedans,  Mormons,  and 
Swedenborgians  to  their  respective  religious  leaders. 
With  these  differences  in  theological  opinion,  except  as 
showing  that  all  the  views  can  be  made  to  accord  with  the 
view  that  has  been  advanced  here,  the  present  essay  has 
nothing  to  do.  But  it  has  much  to  do,  as  will  be  brought 
out  hereafter,  with  the  acceptance  of  the  general  theory  of 
the  influence  of  subconscious  mental  action.  Most  of  the 


INSPIRATION  AND   IMAGINATION.  I2Q 

reasons  why  this  is  so,  can  be  satisfactorily  indicated  at 
only  a  later  stage  of  our  discussion.  But  some  of  them 
may  be  recognized  now. 

For  instance,  those  who  practise  subconscious  "  gifts/' 
whether  as  mind-readers,  clairvoyants,  psychometrists,  or 
under  other  names,  are  always  dwelling  upon  the  neces- 
sity, in  order  to  success,  of  an  unimpeded  interflow  of 
"  currents  "  between  their  own  minds  and  the  minds  for 
whom  they  exercise  their  "  gifts."  What  does  this  mean, 
so  far  as  it  refers  to  any  condition  actually  existing, 
except  what  is  meant  when  we  speak  of  the  necessity  in 
the  artist  of  "sympathy"?  Or,  again,  what  is  it  to  be 
affected  by  the  "  zeit  geist"  the  "spirit  of  the  times,"  of 
which  we  so  often  hear?  What  is  it  to  be  "the  spokes- 
man of  one's  age  "  ?  What  is  it  to  be  able,  in  the  partic- 
ular individualizations  of  art,  to  express  the  universal  ? 
What  is  it  to  be  able,  while  depicting  the  phases  of  the 
present,  to  foretell  the  unfoldings  of  the  future  ?  All 
these  things,  every  one  admits  to  be  characteristic  of  the 
great  artist.  But  what  are  they  all,  except  manifesta- 
tions of  the  possession  of  a  subconscious  mind,  delicately 
suspectable  to  influences  exerted  by  other  minds  sur- 
rounding one,  and  moving  forward  with  him, — possibly, 
as  in  cases  of  prevision,  already  borne  beyond  him  ? 

Finally,  what  is  the  very  substance  of  the  art-product 
which  we  term  a  work  of  imagination?  What  is  it  but  a 
result,  the  general  outlines  of  which  are  taken  from  real 
objects  or  events  in  the  external  world,  yet  the  significant 
substance  of  which  is  built  out  of  the  well-nigh  infinite 
variety  of  material  which  has  been  stored  in  the  sub- 
conscious mind  ?  And  when  we  consider  the  forgotten  ex- 
periences that  have  invariably  been  brought  to  light,  in 
order  to  be  combined  into  the  result,  we  have  no  difficulty 


130      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

in  recognizing  that  art  is  not  nature,  but  nature  as  mir- 
rored in  the  mind, — mainly  in  the  subconscious  rather 
than  in  the  conscious, — a  fact  which  will  be  perceived  to 
be  true  both  of  the  simplest  elementary  exercise  of  com- 
parison in  which  a  single  thing  perceived  reminds  one  of 
another  single  thing  previously  perceived,  and  equally 
true  also  of  that  more  complex  and  most  difficult  exer- 
cise of  constructive  imagination  in  which  a  composite 
series  of  things  perceived  reminds  one  of  another  com- 
posite series  previously  perceived. 

Such  facts  indicate  that,  in  many  regards,  the  mind 
works  similarly  in  religion  and  in  art.  Indeed,  the  mere 
fact  that  both  involve  an  exercise  of  subconscious  action, 
is  enough  to  explain  why  their  results  should  blend  so  as 
frequently  to  be  indistinguishable.  But  it  does  not  fol- 
low that  they  are  therefore  always  so.  A  spirit  that  had 
never  had  experience  of  an  external  world  of  sight  or 
sound  might  be  inspired.  But  such  a  spirit  could  not 
express  thought  through  referring  to  the  scenes  of  this 
world.  A  man  may  be  inspired  in  uttering  the  gen- 
eral injunction,  "  Bless  them  that  persecute  you."  But 
words  in  this  form  give  no  evidence  of  perceiving — or, 
because  recalling,  or  being  conscious  of  perceiving — ex- 
ternal forms,  and,  at  the  same  time,  of  conjuring  in  the 
mind  similar  forms,  and  of  thus  thinking  through  formu- 
lating mental  images,  as  one  does  in  an  exercise  of  what 
we  term  imagination.  Of  course,  inspiration  is  often — 
perhaps  generally — accompanied  by  imagination,  as  in 
the  mind  of  the  writer  of  the  descriptions  in  the  Book  of 
the  Revelation.  Imagination,  too,  is  often  accompanied 
by  manifestations  of  inspiration,  as  in  the  writings  of 
the  poets, — in  such  a  line,  for  instance,  as  this,  from 
Milton's  Sonnet  on  his  Blindness  : 


INSPIRATION    VERSUS  IMAGINATION.  131 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait. 

The  results  of  the  two,  however,  in  such  cases,  though 
they  may  be  almost  indistinguishable,  differ  both  in  their 
nature  and  in  their  sources, — as  much  as  the  waters  in  a 
spring  differ  from  the  pictures  reflected  on  its  surface. 
Inspiration  is  of  the  depths.  It  has  to  do  with  that 
which  comes  from  within.  Imagination  is  of  the  surface. 
It  has  to  do  with  that  which  is  mirrored  from  without. 
In  religion  the  predominating  relationship  is  to  a  source 
beyond  human  control;  in  art,  a  source  within  human 
control  is  of  equal  importance. 

A  failure  to  recognize  this  difference  is  detrimental  not 
only  to  religion,  lowering  its  character  and  weakening  its 
authority,  but  also — what  is  of  more  importance  for  our- 
selves in  this  connection — is  detrimental  to  art.  Those 
who  confound  religious  with  what  is  termed  artistic  inspi- 
ration, will  almost  necessarily  estimate  musicians,  actors, 
poets,  orators,  and  even  sculptors,  painters  and  architects 
by  the  unconscious  facility  which  they  manifest  in  con- 
ception and  execution.  But,  though  owing  to  the  plia- 
bility of  his  conscious  nature  to  subconscious  influence, 
the  artist  does,  in  certain  moods,  manifest  this  facility,  it 
is  not  too  much  to  say  that  no  product  of  genius  has 
ever,  even  in  such  moods,  sustained  itself  on  a  high, 
artistic  level,  except  as  a  result  of  much  previous  study 
and  practice  (see  Chapter  XII.)  which  has  developed  skill ; 
nor,  even  then,  has  work  thus  produced  been  able  to  sat- 
isfy the  highest  demands  of  art,  unless  it  has  been  very 
carefully  and  consciously  revised.  This  is  a  fact  essential 
to  recognize,  but  very  difficult  to  get  into  the  minds 
either  of  the  young  who  wish  to  become  artists,  or  of  the 
general  public,  or  even  of  critics  upon  whom  both  artists 
and  the  public  depend  for  instruction. 


132      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  this  difference  between  the  work- 
ing of  the  mind  in  religion  and  in  art,  should  affect  the 
opinions  of  men  with  reference  to  both.  It  undoubtedly 
explains  the  reason  why  many  reject  as  religiously  un- 
trustworthy any  communications  from  the  subconscious 
mind,  induced  through  any  methods  at  all  resembling  hyp- 
notism— as  do  some  that  are  used  in  "  spiritualism  " — which 
methods,  as  already  indicated  on  page  68,  are  allied  to  those 
of  art.  The  fact  explains,  too,  why  many,  even  of  those 
who  believe  that  revelation  is  no  longer  imparted  through 
inspiration,  nevertheless  feel  inclined  to  judge  of  the  trust- 
worthiness of  those  who  interpret  the  traditional  doctrines, 
by  the  degree  of  the  unconsciousness  manifested  by  the 
minds  of  these  interpreters,  while  at  their  work  "  The 
Friends  "  are,  by  no  means,  the  only  sect  who  hold  that 
only  such  thought  is  inspired  as  springs  to  the  lips  with- 
out previous  conscious  preparation.  Do  not  some  Presby- 
terians still  have  a  subtle  belief  in  the  inspiration  of  the 
answer  in  the  Westminster  Catechism  to  the  question, 
What  is  God  ?  because  composed  of  the  first  few  unpre- 
meditated words  of  a  prayer,  that  ended  a  discussion  in 
which  no  one  had  been  able  to  think  out  a  satisfactory 
definition  ?  Are  there  not  many  intelligent  people  who 
have  in  them  a  little  of  the  same  feeling  that  made  the 
old  Seventh-day-Baptist  ministers,  after  reaching  their 
pulpits,  open  their  Bibles  and  take  the  first  text  to  which 
a  casual  undirected  finger  would  point?  We  have  pro- 
bably all  heard  of  one  of  their  sermons — on  Cant,  ii :  12. 
"  The  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  our  land,"  "  Brethren, 
you  know  the  turtle  ain't  got  no  voice.  But  on  a  summer 
evenin'  as  you  're  a  walkin'  a  nigh  the  pools,  you  hear  the 
turtles  a  droppin'  off  the  logs  into  the  water.  The  voice 
of  the  turtle  is  the  sound  of  a  droppin'  into  the  water,  the 


INSPIRATION    VERSUS  IMAGINATION.  133 

sound  of  a  baptism,  the  sound  of  a  joinin'  of  the  church — 
That 's  the  sound  of  the  good  time  comin'."  In  general, 
it  may  be  said  that  most  men's  conception  of  a  distinct- 
ively religious  teacher,  to  say  nothing  of  a  prophet, 
excludes  anything  supposed  to  call  particular  attention 
to  his  own  conscious  intellection,  or  even  to  his  own 
intellect.  He  may  possess,  and  add  to  his  influence  by 
possessing,  accuracy  of  observation,  breadth  of  informa- 
tion, and  brilliancy  of  style,  but  it  is  felt  that  the  value 
of  his  work  does  not  depend  mainly  upon  them.  He 
is  supposed  to'  be  guided  to  his  utterance  by  an  agency 
above  him,  which  can,  occasionally,  make  the  words  of  an 
ignorant  fisherman  or  a  weak  child  as  enlightening  and 
uplifting  as  those  coming  from  the  lips  of  the  most 
learned  scholar  and  skilful  advocate. 

Notice,  however,  that  just  the  opposite  is  true  in  the 
case  of  art.  For  success  in  it,  accuracy  of  observation 
is  essential,  because  the  artist  derives  from  nature  not 
only  his  suggestions,  but  the  very  form  of  the  image 
which  he  must  use  in  indicating  them.  So  with  refer- 
ence to  breadth  of  information.  When  the  results  of 
subconscious  mental  action  must  be  represented  through 
the  results  of  conscious  observation,  information  obtained 
through  this  latter  is  indispensable.  Again,  too,  because 
supposed,  in  a  degree  not  true  of  a  religious  leader,  to  work 
out  his  conceptions  according  to  conscious  mental  meth- 
ods, it  is  felt  that  the  artist  must  have  more  than  a  usual 
amount  of  mental  ability.  In  fact,  it  is  felt  that  there  is, 
and  should  be,  an  immense  difference  between  the  mo- 
tive underlying  the  effect  produced  by  the  preacher  and 
by  the  actor.  The  actor  we  admire,  as  we  do  every 
artist,  on  account  of  a  manifestation  of  acquired  facility 
in  holding  the  mirror  of  the  subconscious  as  also  of  the 


134      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

conscious  mind  up  to  nature  so  that  each  mind  shall  work 
with  apparent  spontaneity  as  regards  both  impression  and 
expression  ;  and  no  matter  how  much  he  may  reveal  of  the 
results  of  subconscious  action,  he  is  either  supposed  to 
have  attained  these  results  through  lofty  flights  of  his 
own  self-impelled  imagination,  or  else,  if  presumed  to  have 
received  them  precisely  as  prophets  receive  religious  truth, 
to  have  rendered  them  effective  through  acquired  skill, 
by  means  of  which  he  has  been  enabled  to  give  them 
form. 

There  is  much  religious  truth  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  for 
instance,  but  there  might  have  been  just  as  much  of  this 
in  a  poorly  written  prose  work.  What  makes  Milton's 
religious  truth  artistic,  is  its  poetic  embodiment;  and  the 
poetry  is  just  as  artistic,  so  far  as  concerns  this  alone, 
in  places  in  which  there  is  no  suggestion  of  religion. 

It  would  be  a  mistake,  however,  to  suppose  that,  be- 
cause not  directly  an  aid  to  religion,  art  is  not  indirectly 
so,  and  this  even  where  strictly  confined  to  its  own 
sphere.  In  ages  like  our  own,  when  men  rely  chiefly 
upon  the  guidance  of  the  conscious  mind,  it  is  extremely 
difficult  for  them  to  be  brought  to  realize  that  there  is 
any  trustworthy  guidance  attributable  to  the  action  of  the 
subconscious  mind.  Those  in  this  state  may  be  divided 
into  two  classes.  One  class  of  them  holds  that  many 
years  ago  this  inspirational  form  of  guidance  prevailed, 
but  that  now  it  does  not.  They  believe  in  inspiration 
that  was,  but  not  in  inspiration  that  is.  They  prize 
highly  that  which  was  once  received  in  this  way.  But, 
so  far  as  concerns  a  similar  method  of  receiving  the  truth 
now,  their  own  spiritual  instincts  are  not  allowed  to 
guide  them  even  to  the  extent — which  might  involve  no 
great  changes  of  opinion — of  interpreting  the  spirit  of  the 


RELIGIOUS  INFLUENCE    OF  ART.  135 

old  according  to  the  form  of  the  new.  The  result  is  what 
is  termed  traditionalism  ;  and  it  is  needless  to  argue  that 
the  tendency  of  this  is  to  cause  the  mind  to  hold  on  to 
that  which  has  formerly  been  conceived,  and  to  hold  on  so 
firmly  as  often  to  be  prejudicial  to  development,  and 
even  to  activity,  of  thought.  The  other  class  maintains 
that  there  never  was,  and  never  can  be  anything  worth 
regarding  in  this  inspirational  form  of  guidance.  They 
deem  nothing  trustworthy  except  that  which  results 
solely  from  the  action  of  the  conscious  mind.  This  leads 
to  what  is  termed  materialism  ;  and,  so  far  as  it  has  its 
perfect  work,  it  is  still  more  deadening  to  effort  and 
ideality  than  is  traditionalism. 

Now,  considered  in  relation  to  either  of  these  two 
classes,  notice  how  important  is  any  agency  that  can  lift 
people  who  have  no  theories  admitting  the  possibility  of 
inspiration,  into  a  practical  realization  of  it.  This  is 
what  art  does.  Through  the  results  of  the  subconscious 
mind,  coalescing,  as  we  shall  find  by-and-by,  with  those 
of  the  conscious  mind,  it  everywhere  surrounds  the 
material  with  the  halo  of  the  spiritual,  causing  the  minds 
that  will  not  even  acknowledge  the  existence  of  the  latter, 
to  enter  upon  a  practical  experience  of  it  in  ideas,  and  to 
accept,  when  appearing  in  the  guise  of  imagination,  what 
they  would  reject  if  presented  in  its  own  lineaments.  So 
in  an  age  like  our  own,  art  may  do  a  large  part  of  the 
work  peculiar  to  religion.  The  artist  though  not  a  seer 
always  has  within  him  the  possibility  of  being  the  seer's 
assistant.  No  wonder  therefore  that  those  not  versed  in 
making  discriminations  should  identify  the  poets  with  the 
prophets.  Perhaps  the  majority  of  all  expressions  to 
which  we  attribute  inspiration  are,  in  their  form,  poetical; 
and  as  shown  in  Chapters  II.,  and  IV.,  there  is  no  truth  so 


136      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

exalted,  so  infinite,  eternal,  absolute,  that  the  artist,  by 
reproducing  the  forms  about  him,  cannot  suggest  it  to 
imagination  ;  nor  any  truth  so  spiritual  and  unfamiliar, 
or  capable  of  being  realized  in  only  so  remote  a  future, 
that  he  cannot  present  this  truth  in  forms  in  which  many 
minds,  however  prejudiced  and  material  their  tendencies, 
will  not  be  glad  to  welcome  it. 

But  a  man  would  mistake  if  for  these  reasons  he  were 
to  suppose  that  art  can  be  an  entire  substitute  for  re- 
ligion. It  can  no  more  be  this  in  that  which  has  to  do 
with  inspiration  than  it  can  be  a  substitute  for  science  in 
that  which  has  to  do  with  investigation.  In  an  age  in 
which  there  is  little  scientific  accuracy,  there  is  little 
artistic  accuracy  ;  and  in  an  age  in  which  there  is  little 
religious  inspiration  there  is  little  artistic.  The  subcon- 
scious mind  works,  as  we  shall  find  in  Chapter  XL,  in 
accordance  with  suggestion.  The  stimulus  of  religious 
suggestion  is  needed  by  art  in  order  to  attain  the  loftiest 
heights  of  imaginative  effort.  Of  course  this  suggestion 
can  be  experienced  in  the  degree  only  in  which  there  is  a 
certain  practical  belief  in  the  relation  of  subconscious 
to  conscious  mental  action,  even  if  there  be  not  a  clear 
theoretical  understanding  of  it.  This  fact  is  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  the  somewhat  lengthened  discussion  that  has 
here  been  given  to  this  subject. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SIGNIFICANCE    AS    ATTRIBUTABLE    TO    MENTAL   ACTION : 

SCIENTIFIC    CONCEPTIONS   HAVING   THEIR   SOURCE 

IN  INVESTIGATION  ;  ARTISTIC  IN  IMAGINATION. 

Results  of  Scientific  Investigation  to  be  Contrasted  with  those  of  Artistic 
Imagination — Quotation  from  Huxley  Showing  Scientific  as  Contrasted 
with  Religious  View- Point — Is  equally  far  from  View- Point  of  Art — 
The  Difference  in  View- Point  is  Owing  to  a  Difference  between  a  Desire 
to  Investigate  and  to  Imagine — Scientific  Interest  is  in  Preceding  Condi- 
tions, Artistic  in  Conditioned  Effects — The  Detailing  of  Results  of 
Investigation  is  Inartistic  in  Literature — Quotations  from  Gay — From 
Scott — Expression  of  Results  of  Imagination  from  Tennyson — Of  In- 
vestigation from  West — Of  Imagination  from  Homer — Criticism  upon 
an  Explanation  of  a  Quotation  from  Shakespeare — This  Distinction  of 
Universal  Applicability — Thought  in  Modern  Art  Different  in  Range 
from  Ancient — Justification  for  Introduction  of  Philosophy  and  Science 
in  Art — Scientific  Investigation  Overlooks  Nothing  :  Artistic  Imagina- 
tion Regards  only  the  Prominent  and  Emphatic  —  Scientific  Com- 
parison is  a  Result  of  Thorough  Study  :  Artistic  Is  not — Yet  Being  a 
Result  of  Sub-Intellection,  in  an  Instructed  Mind,  it  may  be  Accurate — 
Scientific  Conclusions  are  Corrected  at  every  Stage  by  Results  of  Inves- 
tigation :  Artistic  are  not — Inferences  therefrom  against  and  in  Favor 
of  the  Artist — Science  can  not  Cross  the  Border  of  the  Unseen  :  Art 
can — Art  Connects  Religion  and  Science — Artist  must  be  Something  of 
a  Scientist  . 

A  RTISTIC  conceptions  have  been  said  to  be  derived 
equally  from  the  inner  spiritual  world,  which  is  the 
chief  source  of  influence  in  religion,  and  of  which  one  learns 
through  inspiration  ;  and  from  the  outer  material  world, 
which  is  the  chief  source  of  influence  in  science,  and  of 
which  one  learns  through  investigation  ;  in  other  words, 

137 


»*  TUB 

UNIVERSITY 
«S£CALIFO^ 


138      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

it  has  been  said  that  they  are  traceable  neither  to  inspira- 
tion alone  nor  to  investigation,  but  to  imagination.  The 
ways  in  which  the  results  of  imagination  contrast  with 
those  of  inspiration  have  been  considered  in  the  preced- 
ing chapter.  In  this,  we  are  to  consider  the  ways  in  which 
they  contrast  with  those  of  investigation. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  find  both  the  fact  of  this  con- 
trast, and  the  reason  for  it,  brought  out  more  forcibly  than 
in  the  following  quotation  from  the  review  of  Darwin's 
"  Origin  of  Species  "  in  Professor  T.  H.  Huxley's  "  Lay 
Sermons,  Addresses,  and  Reviews  "  :  "  What,"  asks  he,  "  is 
the  history  of  every  science,  but  the  history  of  the  elimina- 
tion of  the  notion  of  creative  or  other  interferences  with 
the  natural  order  of  the  phenomena,  which  are  the  subject- 
matter  of  that  science?  When  astronomy  was  young,  the 
*  morning  stars  sang  together  for  joy  '  and  the  planets 
were  guided  in  their  courses  by  celestial  hands.  Now  the 
harmony  of  the  stars  has  resolved  itself  into  gravitation 
according  to  the  inverse  squares  of  the  distances,  and  the 
orbits  of  the  planets  are  deducible  from  the  laws  of  the 
forces  which  allow  a  school-boy's  stone  to  break  a  window. 
The  lightning  was  the  angel  of  the  Lord ;  but  it  has 
pleased  Providence  in  these  modern  times  that  science 
should  make  it  the  humble  messenger  of  man,  and  we 
know  that  every  flash  that  shimmers  about  the  horizon  on 
a  summer's  evening  is  determined  by  ascertainable  con- 
ditions, and  that  its  direction  and  brightness  might,  if 
our  knowledge  of  these  were  great  enough,  have  been 
calculated." 

This  statement  is  very  far — as  some  would  argue,  inex- 
cusably far — from  the  view-point  of  religion.  But  it  is 
equally  far  from  that  of  art.  Professor  Huxley  is  criticising 
the  poetry  rather  than  the  prose  of  the  Bible.  Nor  could 


ARTISTIC  AND    SCIEN7^IFIC   CONCEPTIONS.        139 

any  amount  of  scientific  discovery  ever  cause  an  artistic 
mind  to  cease  to  employ  or  to  enjoy  the  poetry  thus  em- 
ployed. Notice  the  following : 

Moon  and  stars 

Keep  their  most  solemn  vigils,  when  the  clouds 
Watch  also,  shifting  peaceably  their  place 
Like  bands  of  ministering  Spirits,  or  when  they  lie, 
As  if  some  Protean  art  the  change  had  wrought, 
In  listless  quiet  o'er  the  ethereal  deep 
Scattered,  a  Cyclades  of  various  shapes 
And  all  degrees  of  beauty.     O  ye  Lightnings  ! 
Ye  are  their  perilous  offspring  ;  and  the  Sun 

Loves  his  own  glory  in  their  looks,  and  showers 
Upon  that  unsubstantial  brotherhood 
Visions  with  all  but  beatific  light 
Enriched  ! 

To  the  Clouds  :    Wordsworth. 

Scores  of  passages  containing  expressions  similar  in 
kind  to  this  might  be  quoted  from  almost  every  poet, 
ancient  or  modern,  religious  or  irreligious,  ignorant  of 
scientific  truth  or  acquainted  with  it.  They  certainly 
indicate  a  very  different  way  of  looking  upon  nature  from 
that  suggested  in  the  quotation  on  page  138.  But  this 
difference  cannot  be  explained,  as  Professor  Huxley  cer- 
tainly intimates  that  it  might  be,  by  saying  that  the 
scientist  is  intelligent  and  rational,  while  the  poet  is  igno- 
rant and  superstitious.  The  explanation  must  be  found 
in  the  fact  that  each  is  influenced  by  a  different  motive. 
The  scientist  is  moved  to  investigate,  and  the  poet  to 
imagine.  Investigation,  as  we  shall  find,  necessitates  an 
analysis  and,  following  this,  a  comparison  and  a  presenta- 
tion in  detail  of  all  the  conditions  preceding  or  underlying 
appearances,  whereas  imagination  does  not  necessitate  an 
analysis,  but  merely  a  comparison  and  a  representation, 


140      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

general  in  its  nature,  of  appearances  alone,  either  accepted 
as  wholes,  or  regarded  as  composed  of  only  their  more 
perceptible  parts.  To  descend  into  particulars,  notice, 
first,  that  in  observing  the  lightning,  the  scientist  cares 
comparatively  little  about  its  merely  outward  aspects. 
He  is  interested  in  it  less  because  of  being  awed  or  terri- 
fied by  it,  than  because  of  indications  that  it  gives  of  the 
conditions  preceding  it,  of  the  "  natural  order  of  the  phe- 
nomena "  which  lead  to  it.  On  the  contrary,  that  which 
attracts  the  imagination  of  the  artist  affects  necessarily 
the  mind  more  or  less  as  an  image  does.  But  an  image 
is  an  appearance  which  has  an  interest  in  itself,  wholly 
aside  from  any  indication  which  it  may  give  of  an  order 
or  conjunction  of  phenomena  occasioning  it. 

This  difference  between  the  interest  awakened,  on  the 
one  hand,  by  conditions  that  are  preceding  or  underlying, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  by  those  that  are  present  and 
apparent,  will  be  found  to  separate  universally  the  scien- 
tific from  the  artistic.  In  looking  at  a  human  body,  a 
mere  scientist — an  ordinary  physician,  for  instance — cares 
for  its  contour  so  far  only  as  it  may  assist  him  to  an 
understanding  of  the  arrangements  and  workings  of  the 
different  internal  organs  and  their  functions.  But  the 
sculptor  or  painter  cares  for  the  contour  in  itself.  He 
studies  the  anatomy  of  the  organs  or  movements  of  the 
muscles  mainly  for  the  purpose  of  observing  and  under- 
standing better  the  external  appearance.  So  in  examin- 
ing a  piano,  all  of  us,  when  considering  the  experiments 
resulting  in  its  invention  and  the  methods  underlying  its 
construction,  think  of  it  as  a  result  of  science.  But  we 
refer  to  the  completed  effects  of  these,  whether  of  its 
appearances  or  of  its  sounds,  as  results  of  art.  The  same 
is  true  as  applied  to  such  a  comparatively  unsubstantial 


INVESTIGATION    VERSUS  IMAGINATION.          141 

product  as  a  sonata.  We  may  speak  of  the  method  of 
its  composition  and  presentation  as  being  scientific  ;  but 
when  we  refer  to  their  resultant  effects,  we  invariably  use 
the  term  artistic. 

This  distinction  has  an  important  bearing  upon  the 
question  of  the  subject-matter  which  should  be  presented 
in  a  work  of  art.  The  artist  is  supposed  to  be  giving 
expression  to  a  result  not  mainly  of  analysis  but  of  percep- 
tion. If.  therefore,  his  product  seem  to  be  due  to  the 
former  rather  than  to  the  latter,  he  appears  to  be  working 
in  the  realm  of  science,  rather  than  of  art ;  if  he  be  giving 
us  literature,  to  be  writing  prose,  not  poetry.  Notice  the 
evidences  of  investigation  in  the  following,  and  that  they 
furnish  one  among  other  reasons  for  its  prosaic  effects: 

You  must  not  every  worm  promiscuous  use  ; 
Judgment  will  tell  the  proper  bait  to  choose  : 
The  worm  that  draws  a  long  immoderate  size 
The  trout  abhors,  and  the  rank  morsel  flies  : 
And,  if  too  small,  the  naked  fraud  's  in  sight, 
And  fear  forbids,  while  hunger  does  invite. 
Those  baits  will  best  reward  the  fisher's  pains, 
Whose  polished  tails  a  shining  yellow  stains  ; 
Cleanse  them  from  filth,  to  give  a  tempting  gloss  ; 
Cherish  the  sullied  reptile  race  with  moss  ; 
Amid  the  verdant  bed  they  twine,  they  toil, 
And  from  their  bodies  wipe  their  native  soil. 

Rural  Sports  :    John  Gay. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  too  in  this  next  description  from  "  Guy 
Mannering,"  i.,4,  is  repeatedly  inserting  the  reasons  which 
he  has  discovered  for  certain  appearances.  The  general 
effect  therefore  is  that  of  scientific  rather  than  of  poetic 
prose. 

The  landscape  showed  a  pleasing  alternation  of  hill  and 
dale,  intersected  by  a  river  which  was  in 'some  places  visible, 


142      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

and  hidden  in  others — where  it  rolled  betwixt  deep  and  wooded 
banks.  The  spire  of  a  church  and  the  appearance  of  some 
houses  indicated  the  situation  of  a  village  where  the  stream 
had  its  junction  with  the  ocean.  The  vales  seemed  well  cul- 
tivated, the  little  enclosures  into  which  they  were  divided 
skirting  the  bottom  of  the  hills,  and  sometimes  carrying  their 
lines  of  straggling  hedgerows  a  little  way  up  the  ascent. 
Above  these  were  green  pastures  tenanted  chiefly  by  herds  of 
black  cattle,  then  the  staple  commodity  of  the  country,  whose 
distant  low  gave  no  unpleasing  animation  to  the  landscape. 
The  remoter  hills  were  of  a  sterner  character,  etc. 

This  next  quotation,  however,  is  strictly  poetical: 

In  the  afternoon  they  came  unto  a  land 

In  which  it  seemed  always  afternoon. 

All  round  the  coast,  the  languid  air  did  swoon, 

Breathing  like  one  that  hath  a  weary  dream. 

Full-faced  above  the  valley  stood  the  moon  ; 

And  like  a  downward  smoke  the  slender  stream 

Along  the  cliff  to  fall  and  pause  and  fall  did  seem. 

The  Lotus  Eaters  :    Tennyson. 

The  following  verse,  though  intended  for  poetry,  is 
rendered  prosaic  by  constant  mention  of  the  conditions 
preceding  those  perceived,  conditions  possible  to  know 
only  as  a  result  of  investigation. 

Then  shall  my  youthful  sons,  to  wisdom  led 

By  fair  examples  and  ingenuous  praise, 

With  willing  feet  the  paths  of  duty  tread, 

Through  the  world's  intricate  or  rugged  ways 

Conducted  by  religion's  sacred  rays, 

Whose  soul-invigorating  influence 

Shall  purge  their  minds  from  all  impure  allays 

Of  sordid  selfishness  and  brutal  sense  ; 

And  swell  the  ennobled  heart  with  blest  benevolence. 


LANG  UA  GE  OF  IN  VES  TIG  A  TION  A  ND  IMA  GIN  A  TION.    1 43 

Fired  with  the  idea  of  her  future  fame, 

She  rose  majestic  from  her  lowly  stead, 

While  from  her  vivid  eyes  a  sparkling  flame 

Out-beaming  with  unwonted  light  o'erspread 

That  monumental  pile,  and,  as  her  head 

To  every  front  she  turned,  discovered  round 

The  venerable  forms  of  heroes  dead, 

Who,  for  their  various  merits  erst  renowned 

In  their  bright  fane  of  glory  shrines  of  honor  found. 

Education  :  Gilbert  West. 

In  contrast  to  this,  notice  how  the  writer  of  this  next 
passage  leaves  us  in  ignorance  of  all  conditioning  causes, 
except  so  far  as,  by  describing  mere  appearances,  he  can 
suggest  them. 

The  counsel  did  not  please 

Atrides  Agamemnon  ;  he  dismissed 

The  priest  with  scorn,  and  added  threatening  words  : 

44  Old  man,  let  me  not  find  thee  loitering  here 

Beside  the  roomy  ships,  or  coming  back 

Hereafter,  lest  the  fillet  thou  dost  bear 

And  sceptre  of  thy  god  protect  thee  not. 

This  maiden  I  release  not  till  old  age 

Shall  overtake  her  in  my  Argive  home, 

Far  from  her  native  country,  where  her  hand 

Shall  throw  the  shuttle  and  shall  dress  my  couch. 

Go,  chafe  me  not,  if  thou  wouldst  safely  go." 

He  spake  ;  the  aged  man  in  fear  obeyed 

The  mandate,  and  in  silence  walked  apart 

Along  the  many-sounding  ocean-side. 

Homer's  Iliad,  I.  :  Bryant's  Translation. 

In  the  song  in  Shakespeare's  "  Twelfth  Night,"  act  2, 
sc.  4,  are  the  words : 

Come  away,  come  away,  Death, 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid. 

With   scarcely   an   exception,  the  hypercritics  of  Shake- 
speare explain  this  allusion  to  the   cypress  in  the  same 


144      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

way  as  does  Knight  in  his  note  upon  it.  He  says  :  "  There 
is  doubt  whether  a  coffin  of  cypress-wood  or  a  shroud  of 
cypress  be  here  meant."  It  does  not  seem  to  have 
occurred  to  these  critics  that,  as  poetry  is  an  art,  and 
poetic  language  the  language  of  perception,  the  expres- 
sion is  more  likely  to  refer  to  the  appearance  of  the 
cemeteries  in  which  the  dead  are  laid  away.  Universally, 
in  southern  Europe,  these  cemeteries  are  filled,  and  in 
such  ways  as  to  be  recognized  at  great  distances,  with 
what,  owing  to  the  principle  of  association,  may  be  termed 
"  sad "  rows  of  cypress  trees.  When  the  reference  is 
ascribed  to  the  conditions  preceding  coffins  or  shrouds 
rather  than  to  the  apparent  effects — i.  e.,  rather  than  to 
these  dark  rows  of  cypress  trees  casting  their  thick 
shadows  over  the  cemeteries — the  expression  of  the  poet 
is  interpreted  as  if  it  were  scientific  rather  than  artistic. 

But  the  question  may  arise  whether  the  distinction 
thus  indicated  is  of  universal  applicability.  It  may  be 
asked,  does  not  the  artist  also,  like  the  scientist,  regard, 
at  times,  the  occasioning  conditions  preceding  appear- 
ances, does  he  not  at  times  reproduce  "  the  natural  order 
of  the  phenomena  which,"  as  Professor  Huxley  asserts, 
"are  the  Subject-matter"  of  science?  For  instance,  in 
this  very  passage,  quoted  from  Wordsworth, 

O  ye  Lightnings  ! 
Ye  are  their  perilous  offspring, 

are  not  the  phenomena  both  of  clouds  and  of  lightnings — 
both  of  the  conditioning  causes  and  of  the  conditioned 
effects — perceived  and  mentioned  in  their  natural  order 
of  sequence  ?  Of  course,  one  must  answer  that  they  are  : 
and  yet  pure  science  never  would  have  used  the  words, 
"  O  ye  Lightnings  !  "  or  "  offspring."  The  former  indicates 


ARTISTIC   USE   OF  SCIENTIFIC  FACTS.  145 

primary  attention  given  to  the  phenomena ;  and  so  does 
the  latter,  for  it  indicates  that  the  natural  order  of  the 
phenomena  is  not  perceived  or  presented  for  the  sake  of  its 
natural  order,  as  would  be  the  case  in  science,  but  for  the 
sake  of  the  appearance  of  the  order.  The  familiar  fact  of 
the  lightning's  issuing  from  the  clouds  is  likened  to  the 
equally  familiar  fact  that  children  issue  from  their  parents. 
If  the  truth  that  lightnings  spring  from  clouds  needed 
demonstration,  the  demonstration  would  be  scientific. 
But  inasmuch  as  this  truth  can  be  revealed  to  glances 
extended  only  to  surface-appearances,  the  perception  of 
it,  whether  it  be  manifested  in  one  isolated  form  or  in  a 
process  of  formation,  involves  no  more  than  the  view  of 
the  artist.  The  same  must  be  true,  too,  of  any  fact,  even 
though  necessitating  scientific  discovery,  the  moment 
that  it  becomes  so  well  known  as  no  longer  to  need 
demonstration. 

This  is  one  reason  why  the  range  of  thought  in  modern 
art  differs  essentially  from  that  in  ancient.  The  following 
from  Tennyson  contains  the  very  essence  of  poetry ;  yet 
it  could  not  have  been  written  before  science  had  demon- 
strated the  existence  of  certain  uniform  laws  of  develop- 
ment : 

Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 

I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies, 

Hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 

Little  flower — but  if  I  could  understand 

What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 

I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 

Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall :   Tennyson. 

The  same  could  be  said  of  Wordsworth's 

To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows,  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 

Intimations  of  Immortality  :    Wordsworth. 


146      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

The  consideration  just  suggested  affords  a  certain  de- 
gree of  justification  for  those  anomalies  of  modern  times, 
against  which  critics  protest  in  vain, — artistic  products  too 
profound  and  philosophical  in  their  significance  to  gratify 
the  popular  tastes.  Undoubtedly  much  poetry,  and  some 
music  and  painting,  manifest  the  presence  of  a  motive 
that  is  scientific  rather  than  artistic.  But  whether  or  not 
they  do  this  must  be  decided  by  the  form  rather  than 
by  the  subject-matter.  The  mere  fact  that  the  dis- 
coveries of  science  are  treated  like  familiar  subjects  is  not 
an  argument  against  the  artistic  quality  of  the  work  con- 
taining them.  Nevertheless,  as  this  quality  can  be  recog- 
nized by  those  alone  to  whom  such  subjects  are  really 
familiar,  the  fact  may  be  an  argument,  and  a  strong  one, 
against  the  expediency  of  introducing  them  at  the  ex- 
pense of  necessarily  limiting  the  number  of  those  to 
whom  the  work  will  prove  artistically  interesting. 

Closely  connected  with  what  has  just  been  said  is  the 
additional  distinction  between  investigation  and  imagina- 
tion, indicated  on  page  139,  in  the  statement  that  the 
former  necessitates  an  analysis  followed  by  a  comparison 
of  all  the  conditions  underlying  an  appearance.  If  we 
wish  to  understand  completely,  as  science  attempts  to  do, 
why  an  appearance  has  the  effect  which  it  has,  not  one  of 
the  conditions  which  has  had  an  influence  can  be  over- 
looked. This  is  so  evident  that  it  need  not  be  argued. 
Just  the  opposite,  however,  is  true  of  art.  It  can  and,  as 
a  rule,  it  does  overlook  all  conditions,  whether  operat- 
ing in  time  or  in  space,  except  such  as  appear  upon 
the  surface.  Art  either  accepts  forms  as  wholes,  or  it 
regards  them  as  combined  or  developed  out  of  their  more 
prominently  perceptible  parts.  "  There  are  in  all  consid- 
erable objects,"  says  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  in  the  eleventh 


ART  DEALS    WITH  SALIENT  FEATURES.  147 

of  his  "  Discourses  on  the  Art  of  Painting,"  "  great  char- 
acteristic distinctions  which  press  strongly  on  the  senses 
and  therefore  fix  the  imagination.  These  are  by  no 
means,  as  some  persons  think,  an  aggregate  of  all  the 
small  discriminating  particulars  ;  nor  will  such  an  accumu- 
lation of  particulars  ever  express  them.  These  answer  to 
what  I  have  heard  great  lawyers  call  the  leading  points 
in  a  case.  .  .  .  Genius  consists,  I  conceive,  in  the  power 
of  expressing  that  which  employs  your  pencil,  whatever 
it  may  be,  as  a  whole,  so  that  the  general  effect  and 
power  of  the  whole  may  take  possession  of  the  mind,  and 
for  a  while  suspend  the  consideration  of  the  subordinate 
and  particular  beauties  or  defects."  To  like  effect,  Sam- 
son, too,  says  in  his  "  Elements  of  Art  Criticism  "  :  "  Ordi- 
narily we  do  not  concentrate  our  minds  sufficiently  to 
observe  the  minute  details  in  any  object  or  scene  ;  and  it 
is  only  the  salient  points  that  strike  us  and  really  give  us 
vivid  impressions.  Hence  when  the  poet  or  prose-writer 
of  fiction  gives  us  these  marked  characteristics  alone,  com- 
bining in  a  single  graphic  picture  facts  as  to  a  man  that 
spread  over  a  lifetime,  or  features  of  a  people  developed 
in  an  age,  they  strike  us  more  in  their  combined  force 
than  they  could  even  were  we  living  for  years  with  the 
men  described  and  dwelling  in  the  very  land  and  age 
depicted.  The  history  of  a  man  or  age  cannot  be  so 
comprehended  as  to  be  written,  till  all  the  points  have 
come  out,  for  then  only  do  the  chief  and  marked  features 
loom  up  and  stand  distinct  in  the  distance,  like  the  promi- 
nent features  in  the  landscape  of  a  country  passed  over, 
while  all  the  intermediate  and  less  characteristic  points 
are  lost  in  dimness.  So  too,  even  an  intimate  friend  is 
characterized  in  our  mind  by  some  marked  feature  of 
mind  or  of  person  ;  and  when  that  characteristic  feature 


148      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

is  brought  out  alone,  we  recognize  its  truth  the  more 
from  its  being  singly  presented."  All  this  is  the  same  as 
to  say  that  art  derives  its  conceptions  from  the  effective 
features  of  objects,  sometimes  from  only  one  of  them,  but, 
if  from  more,  in  all  cases,  from  those  which  are  the  most 
prominently  perceptible. 

Now  we  are  prepared  to  consider  the  most  important 
of  the  distinctions  between  investigation  and  imagination. 
It  is  that  the  result  of  the  comparison  which  follows  the 
analysis  of  science  is  really  obtained  from  sources  very 
different  from  the  result  of  -the  comparison  between  an 
object  and  its  image,  or  between  the  image  of  one  object 
and  of  another,  which  is  perhaps  the  most  prominent  con- 
dition which  we  associate  with  the  term  imagination. 
When  the  scientist  has  analyzed  thoroughly,  and  found 
out  approximately,  all  the  conditions  preceding  one  phe- 
nomenon, and  afterwards  all  those  preceding  another 
phenomenon,  then  and  then  only  does  he  compare  the 
two  phenomena  together  and  make  a  scientific  statement 
that  they  are  alike,  and  conclude  that,  therefore,  they 
have  a  like  scientific  significance.  But  the  artist  can  make 
such  a  comparison  and  statement  as  a  result  not  of  study 
but  of  a  merely  superficial  glance  that  has  recognized  that 
two  things  are  alike  in  perhaps  only  one  regard.  For  in- 
stance, to  make  a  scientific  statement  with  reference  to 
lightnings  and  clouds,  one  would  be  obliged  to  show  many 
intervening  conditions  between  the  two.  These  condi- 
tions the  artist  may  skip.  Merely  because  the  clouds 
precede  lightnings,  in  the  order  of  time,  as  parents  pre- 
cede their  offspring,  he  can  say  : 

O  ye  Lightnings  ! 
Ye  are  their  perilous  offspring. 

The    words    would    be    equally    artistic,   too,    did   they 


THE   IMAGINATION  NOT   UNTRUE.  149 

mention  only  one  or  two  other  of  many  apparent  effects 
possible  to  a  thunder  shower,  as  those  of  the  wind  and 
rain  on  the  ruffled  streams,  or  on  the  swaying  trees,  or  on 
the  flying  dust,  sleet,  or  clouds.  Any  of  these  particulars, 
the  artist  may  notice  or  skip,  dwelling  only  upon  features 
that  are  emphatically  perceptible.  Nor  is  there  any 
denying  that  the  same  superficiality  and  inaccuracy  may 
characterize  all  the  work  of  imagination,  even  when 
employed,  as  it  sometimes  is,  as  an  aid  to  science.  Even 
then  it  is  employed  only  because  the  scientist  has  not 
yet  had  time  or  opportunity  to  investigate — by  which  we 
mean  to  trace  out  carefully,  and  discover  beyond  dispute 
— whatever  conditions  may  have  intervened  between  the 
observed  effect  and  its  supposed  causes. 

It  must  not  be  inferred,  however,  that,  for  the  reason 
just  stated,  these  differences  between  the  action  of  the 
mind  in  investigation  and  in  imagination  indicate  that 
the  latter  method  of  intellection  is  without  warrant  and 
irrational.  It  is  sometimes  so ;  in  the  play  of  fancy,  it 
may  be  intentionally  so ;  in  uninstructed  minds  it  may  be 
unintentionally  so;  but  in  very  intelligent  minds  it  is  sel- 
dom so.  It  will  suffice  our  present  purpose,  however,  to 
say  that  it  is  not  always  so.  Were  this  the  case,  we  should 
be  forced  to  forego  any  claim  that  art  might  make  to 
express  the  truth ;  or  that  criticism  might  offer  to  control 
the  methods  of  such  expression.  But  it  is  not  the  case — 
and  this  is  the  important  matter  that  we  have  been  ap- 
proaching, and  which  connects  our  present  subject  with 
all  that  was  said  in  Chapters  VI.  and  VII. — it  is  not  the 
case  because  the  difference  between  the  conceptions  de- 
rived from  imagination  and  from  investigation  is  owing 
chiefly  to  the  degree  in  which  the  source  of  the  former  is  in 
subconscious  intellection  and  of  the  latter  in  conscious ;  and 


T50      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM, 

it  has  been  found,  contrary  to  that  which  is  suggested  in 
the  passage  quoted  from  Huxley  on  page  138,  that  both 
forms  of  intellection  are  legitimate  and  even  necessary, 
in  case  all  the  resources  of  mind  are  to  be  brought  to 
bear  upon  a  subject.  It  has  been'shown,  too,  and  will  be 
made  clearer  on  pages  21 1  to  213,  that  the  mind  frequently 
apprehends  and  develops  truth  according  to  the  subcon- 
scious methods,  just  as  rationally  as  it  comprehends  and 
unfolds  it  according  to  the  conscious  methods.  Indeed, 
any  one  can  prove  the  fact  for  himself  by  merely  recall- 
ing how  often  he  asserts,  after  an  imaginative  inference, 
that  he  has  had  reasons  for  it ;  and  how,  by  searching  for 
these  reasons,  he  succeeds  in  rinding  them.  He  retraces 
his  course  along  the  subconscious  pathway  between  his 
present  conclusion  and  his  last  conscious  thought,  and, 
gradually,  one  by  one,  the  intervening  logical  steps 
emerge  into  consciousness.  That  they  do  so  indicates 
that,  although  his  mind  has  jumped  the  steps,  or,  at  least, 
been  unconscious  of  taking  them,  nevertheless  it  has  really 
given  subconscious  consideration  to  every  one  of  them. 

To  offset  what  has  just  been  said,  however,  another 
important  difference  between  the  processes  of  thought  in 
investigation  and  in  imagination  needs  to  be  noticed. 
It  is  this :  At  every  stage  of  the  conscious  and  reflective 
method  employed  in  investigation,  the  results  unfolded  in 
thought  are  modified  and  corrected  by  the  results  of  ob- 
servation. But  the  subconscious  methods  of  imagination 
start,  as  was  pointed  out  on  page  106,  with  some  single 
suggestion  to  consciousness,  and  carry  this  out,  accord- 
ing to  subconscious  processes  alone,  which,  though  often 
manifesting,  as  stated  on  page  105,  the  results  of  fault- 
less memory  and  flawless  logic,  may,  nevertheless,  owing 
to  their  lack  of  regard  for  additional  testimony  from  the 


CHARACTERISTICS   OF  IMAGINATIVE   MINDS.       151 

outside,  lead  astray.  Now,  joining  this  statement  to 
what  has  just  been  said,  we  can  surmise  a  reason  for  sev- 
eral acknowledged  facts  with  reference  to  imaginative 
minds.  One  is  that  they  are  often  not  practical.  How 
should  they  be  so  when,  during  the  intervals  in  which  the 
subconscious  and  it  alone  is  at  work,  they  have  a  tendency 
to  be  oblivious  of  the  teachings  of  observation  ?  Another 
fact  is  that  they  are  frequently  able  to  perceive  and  to 
express,  as  others  cannot,  that  which  may  be  considered 
the  absolute  truth.  Why  should  they  not  be  able  to  do 
this, — independent,  as  they  are,  in  a  peculiar  sense,  of  the 
immediate  influence  exerted  by  concrete  material  con- 
ditions ?  A  third  fact  is  that  they  are  frequently  able  to 
manifest  prescience,  if  not  actually  to  prophesy.  Why 
should  they  not  do  this  again  ?  Everything  in  the  world 
undoubtedly  develops  logically — which  is  only  another 
way  of  saying  that  it  develops  rationally.  Why  should 
not  a  mind  with  keen  powers  of  observation,  and  ability 
to  take  in  a  condition  exactly  as  it  is,  be  able,  when  under 
exclusive,  unimpeded  control  of  the  subconscious  logical 
processes,  to  argue  out  this  condition  to  its  conclusions 
exactly  as  they  will  be  when  its  forces  have  developed 
logically  that  which  is  in  them?  A  fourth  fact,  very 
closely  connected  with  this,  is  that  this  same  subcon- 
scious logical  process  may  often  argue  out  a  legitimate 
result  of  scientific  investigation,  and  therefore  assist  in 
the  strictly  scientific  discovery  of  that  toward  which  the 
investigation  is  directed.  Suppose  that  one  should  ask 
why  investigation  analyzes  rock  and  soil,  or  water  and 
air,  in  order  to  detect  a  common  element  behind  both? 
Would  not  the  answer  be  because  imagination  has  already 
surmised  some  resemblance  between  their  manifestations? 
Or  suppose  that  he  should  ask  why  science  investigates 


15?      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

the  laws  of  construction,  and  invents  such  a  product,  say, 
as  a  steam-engine,  a  church-organ,  or  a  bicycle?  Would 
not  the  answer  be  because  the  mind  has  imagined  the 
possibility  of  such  a  product? 

A  fifth  fact  is  the  one  chiefly  suggested  in  Chapter 
VII. ,  namely,  that  these  imaginative  minds  are  the  ones 
most  closely  allied  to  those  of  the  great  teachers  of  re- 
ligion in  their  ability  to  apprehend  and  to  make  others 
apprehend  the  existence  of  causes  which,  as  distinguished 
from  those  that  can  be  made  to  appear,  may  be  termed 
unseen  or  spiritual.  One  has  to  consider  the  subject  for 
only  a  moment  to  recognize  that  science,  in  its  work  of 
investigating  "  the  natural  order  of  phenomena,"  of  trac- 
ing backward  the  steps  of  development  from  one  mani- 
festation of  nature  to  another,  can  never  get  beyond  or 
behind  that  which  has  the  possibility  of  appearing.  But 
this  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  it  can  never  get  beyond  the 
material  universe.  If  it  could  it  would  cease  to  be 
science,  for  this,  as  has  been  shown,  deals  with  the  natural 
order  or  sequence  of  appearances ;  and  all  the  work  of 
investigation  is  based  upon  the  idea  that  behind  every 
ascertained  appearance  something  else  can  be  made  to 
appear.  Besides  this,  were  it  otherwise,  the  journey,  step 
by  step,  through  nature  back  to  the  supernatural,  involves 
the  passage  over  a  realm  of  such  infinite  extent  that  no 
finite  mind  could  take  it.  In  contrast  to  these  conditions, 
notice  that  the  artistic  method  from  its  tendency  to  dis- 
regard many  of  the  phenomena,  and  to  skip  intervening 
steps,  and  to  jump  to  conclusions,  leads  one  not  invariably 
but  readily  to  surmise  an  occasioning  cause  which  does 
not  and  cannot  be  made  to  appear.  If  the  poet's  thought 
be  directed  towards  nature,  it  can  easily  pass  beyond  and 
behind  the  material  universe.  As  Wordsworth  says : 


IMA  GIN  A  TION  AIDS  IN  VE  S  TIG  A  TION.  1 5  3 

I  have  learned 

To  look  on  nature  not  as  in  the  hour 
Of  thoughtless  youth,  but  hearing  oftentimes 
The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity, 
Nor  harsh  nor  grating,  though  of  ample  power 
To  chasten  and  subdue.     And  I  have  felt 
A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts  ;  a  sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air, 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man  ; 
A  motion  and  a  spirit  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things. 

Lines  Composed  a  Few  Miles  above  Tintern  Abbey. 

k 

This  in  an  expression  not  of  investigation  but  of  imagi- 
nation, not  of  science  but  of  art.  Science,  as  has  been 
said,  cannot  pass  the  boundaries  of  the  material  universe 
as  revealed  to  consciousness.  It  could  not  do  so  without 
getting  beyond  the  sphere  in  which  its  methods  of  com- 
prehending, reflecting,  and  reasoning  naturally  work.  Art, 
however,  surmises,  almost  of  necessity,  an  occasioning 
force  behind  these  appearances.  Like  assimilates  with 
like.  The  subconscious  self  within,  through  its  subcon- 
scious steps  of  logic,  subjectively  draws  near  to  that  of 
which  it  cannot  be  objectively  conscious.  It  is  not  only 
scriptural  but  philosophical  to  suppose  that  only  the  un- 
seen spirit  can  hear  the  still  small  voice,  and  hold  com- 
munion with  an  unseen,  spiritual  sovereign. 

This  thought  will  enable  us  to  perceive  clearly  in  what 
sense,  as  applied  to  imagination,  it  is  true,  as  stated  on 
page  63,  that  art  encroaches  upon  the  realms  both  of 
religion  and  of  science,  providing,  as  it  were,  a  bridge 
connecting  the  two.  As  brought  out  in  Chapter  VII., 


154      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

the  results  of  imagination  and  of  inspiration  are  often  in- 
distinguishable. We  have  found  in  this  chapter  that  the 
same  is  frequently  true  of  the  results  of  imagination  and 
of  investigation.  Let  imagination  surmise  a  resemblance 
between  the  elements  entering  into  rock  and  soil,  or  water 
and  air,  or  the  possibility  of  constructing  a  steam-engine, 
a  church-organ,  or  a  bicycle, — and  after  science,  with  slow 
and  cautious  steps,  has  caught  up  with  this  surmisal,  does 
there  not  seem  to  have  been  some  ground  for  it, — some 
positive  knowledge  preceding  it  ?  What  is  this  but  to  say 
that  there  had  been  some  steps  of  investigation  before  the 
leap  of  imagination,  which  latter,  like  the  jump  of  the  boy 
after  his  run,  is,  in  part  at  least,  a  result  of  the  momentum 
derived  from  the  impetus  of  the  former.  Accordingly, 
we  see  how  the  two  tendencies  react  on  one  another. 
Imagination  is  a  forerunner  of  investigation ;  and  investi- 
gation furnishes  an  impetus  to  imagination. 

For  this  reason  a  great  thinker,  whether  a  poet  or  a  phil- 
osopher, although  he  will  incline  to  the  one  method  or  to 
the  other,  according  to  the  bent  of  his  genius,  must  not 
be  wholly  deficient  in  the  qualities  that  go  to  make  up 
either.  Nor,  so  far  as  education  can  atone  for  deficiency, 
will  his  education  be  complete  until  he  has  cultivated  the 
powers  that  go  to  make  up  both.  Goethe  was  a  student 
of  science ;  and  his  poetry  owes  much  to  his  scientific 
studies.  Dante  and  Milton  were  scientific  in  their  poetry, 
and  Plato  and  Spinoza  were  poetic  in  their  philosophies. 
As  Sir  Wm.  Hamilton  says,  in  the  thirty-third  of  his  "  Lec- 
tures on  Metaphysics  "  :  "  A  vigorous  power  of  representa- 
tion is  as  indispensable  a  condition  of  success  in  the  abstract 
sciences  as  in  the  poetical  and  plastic  arts;  and  it  may 
accordingly  be  reasonably  doubted  whether  Aristotle  or 
Homer  were  possessed  of  the  more  powerful  imagination." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SIGNIFICANCE    AS    ATTRIBUTABLE    TO    MENTAL    ACTION  I 

RELIGIOUS  CONCEPTIONS   CHARACTERIZED  BY 

FAITH  ;   ARTISTIC  BY  IDEALITY. 

Connection  of  Thought — Faith,  like  Conscience,  Related  to  Subconscious 
Control — Manifested  in  Practice  as  well  as  in  Opinion — Thus  In- 
terpreted, Faith  Allows  for  Possibilities  of  Difference  Owing  to  Degrees 
and  Kinds  of  Intelligence — Artistic  Conceptions — These  are  Charac- 
terized by  Ideality — Faith  and  Ideality  usually  Go  together,  and  Tend 
to  Develop  one  another — Art  as  an  Expression  of  Religious  Faith 
Fails  both  as  Art  and  as  Religion  ;  Art  Does  the  most  Good  when  At- 
tending to  its  own  Business. 

have  found  that  religious,  scientific,  and  artistic 
conceptions  are  mainly  traceable,  respectively,  to 
inspiration,  having  its  chief  source  in  subconscious  in- 
tellection, to  investigation,  having  its  chief  source  in  con- 
scious intellection,  and  to  imagination,  having  its  source 
about  equally  in  both  forms  of  intellection.  We  are 
now  to  notice,  as  intimated  on  page  64,  that,  as  each  of 
these  phases  of  conception  reveals  itself  in  the  mind,  the 
religious,  which  results  when  the  mind  is  dominated  by 
subconscious  rather  than  by  conscious  influence,  is  char- 
acterized by  faith ;  the  scientific,  which  results  when  the 
mind  is  dominated  by  conscious  rather  than  by  subcon- 
scious influence,  is  characterized  by  knowledge ;  and  the 
artistic,  which  results  when  there  is  a  comparatively 
equal  blending  of  subconscious  and  of  conscious  in- 
fluence, is  characterized  by  ideality. 


I  56      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

To  consider,  first,  that  which  is  characterized  by  faith, 
the  Scriptures  tell  us,  in  Heb.  xi.,  I,  that  faith  is  "the 
evidence  of  things  not  seen,"  and  the  faith  that  we 
term  religious  is  exactly  characterized  by  this,  i.  e.,  by 
an  evidence  in  consciousness,  augmented  by  all  the  com- 
prehension of  the  particular  subject-matter  of  which  the 
conscious  mind  is  capable,  of  an  influence  beyond  or  below 
the  reach  of  consciousness,  of  an  influence  which,  though 
manifested  in  its  results,  is  not  in  itself  perceptible.  At 
first  thought,  the  reader  may  be  inclined  to  think  that, 
while  there  may  be  in  faith  evidences  of  impulses,  whims, 
moods  that  actuate  some  people,  there  is  no  evidence 
of  what  may  be  termed  the  dominance  of  subconscious 
intellection  as  described  in  Chapters  V.  to  VII.  But  let 
him  reflect  a  little.  Did  he  ever  ask  himself  what  is 
the  real  significance  of  that  word  which  he  uses  so  often, 
— conscience?  Everybody,  of  course,  knows  what  the  sen- 
sations are  to  which  the  word  refers.  He  has  felt  them. 
But  what  is  the  explanation  of  this  particular  term? 
What  was  in  the  mind — occultly  and  unconsciously,  per- 
haps, as  in  the  case  of  so  many  other  words  when  first 
used — of  the  man,  or  set  of  men,  who  originated  the 
term?  What  is  the  connection  between  conscience  and 
consciousness?  What  is  conscience  a  consciousness  of? 
When  thus  interrogated,  one  can  scarcely  avoid  recogniz- 
ing that  it  is  a  consciousness  of  a  tendency  in  the  di- 
rection of  feeling,  thought,  or  action  ;  and  that  the 
particular  direction  indicated  is  a  resultant  of  many 
factors — not  merely  of  what  religious  people  term  spirit, 
and  physiologists  temperament,  but,  in  connection  with 
these,  of  an  incalculable  number  of  hereditary  traits, 
of  acquired  habits,  of  social  and  educational  influences, 
and  of  experiences,  intellectual  and  emotional,  that  have 


CONSCIENCE   AND    CONSCIOUSNESS.  157 

been  both  reasoned  out  and  suffered  out, — a  resultant, 
in  fact,  of  the  very  things,  and  of  all  of  them  taken  to- 
gether, that  form  the  contents  of  what  has  been  termed 
in  this  book  the  subconscious  mind.  The  Christ,  in 
speaking  in  Luke  xv.,  17,  of  the  turning-point  in  the 
life  of  the  prodigal  son,  says  that  "he  came  to  himself." 
This  is  the  exact  language  in  which  almost  every  one 
describes  the  way  in  which  a  man  who  has  been  insane, 
intoxicated,  or  asleep  gets  out  of  this  state  into  one  that 
is  normal  and  rational.  What  the  Christ  evidently  meant 
was  that  at  this  time  the  prodigal  came  to  a  conscious- 
ness of  his  own  mind  and  life,  especially  in  their  higher 
spiritual  relations, — to  a  consciousness,  therefore,  of  those 
promptings  of  the  better  rational  or  spiritual  subcon- 
scious self  which  ought  to  be  supreme  in  every  one.  It 
is  because  of  bringing  one  to  a  consciousness  of  these 
that  conscience  imparts  a  feeling  of  obligation.  The 
fact  alone  of  coming  to  consciousness  in  the  sense  just 
indicated  might  not  make  a  man  of  faith,  much  less 
a  man  of  Christian  faith.  Faith  is  determined  not  by 
the  mere  recognition  but  by  the  enthronement  of  these 
spiritual  promptings  ;  and  Christian  faith  by  the  en- 
thronement of  them  as  a  result  of  the  spiritual  influence 
of  the  Christ.  At  the  same  time,  a  recognition  of  these 
promptings  in  any  form  must  tend  to  make  one  correct 
his  conscious  by  his  subconscious  intellection,  and  thus 
tend  in  the  direction  of  faith.  It  has  to  be  confessed, 
however,  that  not  even  when  this  tendency  has  had  its 
perfect  work  can  the  most  complete  faith,  any  more  than 
what  we  term  conscientiousness,  wholly  rid  a  man  of  folly 
and  fault.  Faith  cannot  do  it,  because  it  cannot  make 
one  cease  to  express  his  thoughts  and  feelings  through 
his  conscious  mind  and  body,  the  one  comparatively 


158      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

ignorant  and  the  other  comparatively  vicious.  But  faith 
can  turn  his  energies  in  the  right  direction,  and  he  can 
begin  to  walk  by  it,  even  though  he  may  not,  for  many  a 
long  day,  walk  very  fast  or  far,  or  without  much  stumbling. 

Notice  too  that,  as  thus  interpreted,  faith  is  the  evidence 
of  a  subconscious  controlling  tendency  directed  not  merely 
toward  opinion  but  also  toward  practice ;  for  its  influence 
is  felt  in  every  sphere  in  which  a  man  can  exercise  con- 
scious intelligence.  "  Shew  me  thy  faith  without  thy 
works,"  says  the  apostle,  in  James  ii.,  18,  "  and  I  will  shew 
thee  my  faith  by  my  works."  Accordingly,  we  may  say 
that  in  connection  with  any  exercise  of  feeling,  thought, 
or  will,  such  faith  as  the  Christ  exemplified,  enjoined  and 
awakened  involves  a  conscious  dependence  upon  a  sub- 
conscious or  spiritual  guiding  influence  causing  not  only 
mental  assent  to  spiritual  truth  when  presented,  but  also 
emotional  and  volitional  loyalty,  in  fact  all  that  is  indi- 
cated by  the  terms  faithfulness  and  fidelity. 

As  thus  used,  too,  the  termfaM  will  be  found  to  con- 
form to  our  ordinary  understandings  of  it.  For  instance, 
it  is  broad  enough  in  its  meanings.  To  gauge  it  by  a 
man's  conscious  embodiment  of  a  subconscious  tendency, 
is  to  acknowledge  that  there  may  be  differences  in  faith 
determined  by  the  degrees  and  kinds  of  intelligence  that 
a  man  consciously  possesses.  It  is  impossible  to  suppose 
that  any  suggestion  from  the  subconscious  mind,  when 
modified  at  all,  will  assume  exactly  the  same  phase  in  pass- 
ing through  the  conscious  mind  of  an  educated  man  and  of 
an  uneducated  man, — that  it  will  occasion  in  both  exactly 
the  same  thoughts  or  deeds.  Here  again  we  may  notice 
the  analogy  between  its  results  and  those  of  what  we  term 
conscience.  Conscience  impels  a  man  toward  that  which 
he  thinks  ought  to  be  done ;  but  exactly  what  it  is  that 


FAITH    VERSUS  IDEALITY.  159 

ought  to  be  done,  is,  in  each  case,  apparently  left  to  be 
decided  by  his  own  intelligence.  A  cannibal  may  suppose 
that  he  ought  to  eat  his  enemies ;  but  an  enlightened  man 
that  he  ought  to  furnish  his  with  food  and  shelter.  Now 
why  should  not  an  analogous  principle  be  fulfilled  in  con- 
nection with  all  tendencies  started  in  the  subconscious 
mind?  And  if  so,  what  are  we  to  conclude? — That  they 
do  not  tend  toward  the  right?  Not  at  all — only  that, 
while  they  tend  toward  this,  they  do  not  immediately 
attain  it. 

We  are  now  prepared  to  notice  the  difference  between 
faith  which  has  been  said  to  characterize  religious  con- 
ceptions, and  ideality  which  has  been  said  to  characterize 
artistic  conceptions.  Here,  as  in  distinguishing  the  results 
of  inspiration  from  those  of  imagination,  we  must  start  by 
recognizing  that  the  two  are  alike  in  necessitating  a  certain 
amount  of  subconscious  action,  but  they  are  unlike  in  the 
degree  in  which  they  necessitate  this.  In  religion  such 
action  is  primary  and  essential.  In  art  it  is  often  second- 
ary and  always  auxiliary,  the  results  of  observation  being 
of  equal  importance.  Religion  unfolds  like  a  plant  from 
within.  Its  germs  are  of  a  kind  hidden  in  nature  (see 
page  95),  in  the  animal  and  in  man,  and  when  it  reaches 
the  thoughts,  words,  and  deeds  over  which  the  mind  exer- 
cises conscious  control,  it  influences  these  in  a  manner 
peculiar  to  a  tendency  of  instinct,  a  prompting  of  con- 
science, a  motive  to  action.  Of  course  a  tendency,  a 
prompting,  a  motive,  cannot  be  expressed  outwardly  ex- 
cept as  a  man  uses  something  like  bodily  speech  or  action 
that  can  be  heard  or  seen.  Like  art,  religion,  therefore, 
is  obliged  in  all  forms  of  expression  to  exert  more  or  less 
of  a  material  influence  upon  the  material  body  and  its 
material  surroundings.  But  in  religion  the  essential  matter 


l6o      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

is  that  these  material  forms  of  expression  should  always 
be  subordinate  to  the  promptings  of  the  higher  spiritual 
nature.  When  this  is  the  case,  a  man's  mental  attitude, 
as  it  appeals  to  his  own  mind  or  is  expressed  to  others,  is 
characterized  by  faith  ;  and  it  often,  by  way  of  contrast, 
appears  to  be  characterized  by  this  the  more,  in  the  degree 
in  which  his  methods  of  speech  or  of  action  are  not  sub- 
ordinate but,  on  the  contrary,  antagonistic  to  outward, 
or  to  what  we  ordinarily  term  practical,  requirements, — 
in  the  degree  in  which,  for  all  that  he  can  see  or  hear  in 
the  world  about  him,  his  course  may  lead  to  disparage- 
ment, persecution,  and,  in  ages  of  martyrdom,  to  death. 
His  mental  attitude  is  characterized  by  distinctively  Christ- 
ian faith  in  the  degree  in  which  the  promptings  of  his 
higher  spiritual  nature  conform  to  the  precepts  and  to  the 
legitimate  influence  exerted  upon  his  mind  and  soul  by 
the  character  and  the  mission  of  the  Christ.  Notice, 
however,  that  the  inspirational  force  underlying  faith 
being  a  subconscious  prompting,  necessarily  gives  to  faith 
itself  the  nature  of  something  that  is  constantly  becoming 
in  feeling,  thought,  belief,  or  action,  rather  than  of  any- 
thing which  has  already  become, — in  other  words,  of 
something  characterized  by  an  indefinite  possibility  of 
development,  rather  than  of  anything  that  has  already 
assumed  definite  form. 

In  art  the  conditions  are  different.  It  involves  no 
necessary  subordination  of  the  conscious  to  the  subcon- 
scious. There  is  always  a  co-operation  between  the  two, 
in  which  sometimes  the  one  seems  the  more  prominent 
and  sometimes  th.e  other,  but  in  no  case  does  the  mind 
fail  to  be  conscious  of  external  and  material  surround- 
ings, or  to  aim  at  conformity  to  these.  It  is  the  essential 
condition  of  art  that  it  should  manifest  this  conformity  : 


FAITH    VERSUS  IDEALITY.  l6l 

that  it  should  produce  a  dramatic  imitation,  a  melody,  a 
metaphor,  a  picture,  a  statue,  a  building,  whatever  it  may 
be,  which  in  some  way  emphasizes  the  influence  of  these 
surroundings.  Even  as  applied  to  ordinary  action,  a  man 
who  can  be  specially  commended  for  the  art  which  he 
manifests  in  conversation  or  in  conduct  is  not  the  one 
who  would  most  naturally  be  selected  as  an  exemplifica- 
tion of  that  faith  which  underlies  the  disregard  of  mate- 
rial conditions  involved  often  in  speaking  the  truth,  and 
always  in  marching  to  martyrdom.  It  has  been  said  that, 
as  the  conception  in  religion  is  characterized  by  faith,  so 
that  in  art  is  characterized  by  ideality.  Now  we  can  per- 
ceive the  reason  for  the  statement.  An  ideal  is  an  idea 
represented  to  the  imagination  in  the  outlines,  greatly 
beautified  often,  of  some  known  object,  event,  or  experi- 
ence. This  is  always  the  condition  when  a  conception  be- 
comes artistic.  No  matter  how  much  in  it  may  be  derived 
from  the  vague  intimations  of  subconscious  intellection,  it 
is  fitted  for  art  in  the  degree  alone  in  which,  for  the  time 
being,  it  has  been  made  to  assume  exactly  what  a  religious 
conception  may  not  even  suggest,  namely,  a  definite 
form. 

Of  course,  the  two,  faith  and  ideality,  usually  go 
together,  and,  whenever  they  are  parted,  they  tend  to 
develop  one  another.  A  man  of  faith  often  lives  in  a 
realm  where  imagination  pictures  for  him  the  personality 
of  the  Divine  Being,  and  a  foretaste  of  spiritual  com- 
munion. But  it  is  not  necessary  that  this  should  be  the 
case.  The  words  and  deeds  of  many  a  man  are  kept  true 
to  inward  conviction  without  any  conscious  stimulus  from 
imagination,  and  those  of  many  another  are  kept  in 
almost  constant  enjoyment  of  surroundings  conjured  by 
the  most  conscious  ideality,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 


1 62      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

he  is  usually  "  disobedient  unto  the  heavenly  vision  "  (Acts 
xxvi.,  19). 

In  view  of  these  facts  the  supposition  entertained  by 
many  that  art,  like  religion,  may  be  an  expression  of  faith 
alone,  and  the  attempt  to  make  it  so,  is  sure  to  end  in 
failure.  What  is  worth  noticing,  too,  is  that  this  failure 
will  be  not  only  artistic,  which  follows  as  a  matter  of 
course,  but  also  religious.  That  certain  developments  of 
music,  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture,  designed  to  be  ex- 
pressions of  religious  faith,  rather  than  of.  artistic  ideality, 
tend  to  formalism,  superstition,  or  idolatry,  needs  no 
further  proof  than  the  constant  struggle  against  their 
influences  in  these  directions,  which  has  been  carried  on 
by  the  religionists  of  all  ages  and  countries,  both  Christian 
and  non-Christian.  But  what  are  these  developments  ? — 
Invariably,  those  that  are  least  essentially  artistic.  The 
very  fact  that  they  have  no  excuse  for  being  except  to 
give  form  to  a  religious  conception,  has  a  tendency  to 
make  formal,  instead  of  vital,  the  religious  conception 
which  they  engender.  But  in  the  degree  in  which  an 
art-product  gives  form  to  a  purely  artistic  conception,  the 
impressions  of  intelligence  and  skill  directed  toward  a 
distinct  embodiment  of  ideality,  and  of  this  alone,  are  so 
transcendent  as  to  call  attention  only  to  themselves — in 
other  words,  only  to  the  human  characteristics  which  are 
manifested.  So  far  as  ceremonialism  can  be  cultivated 
by  music,  a  monotonous  Gregorian  chant  sung  in  unison 
is  much  more  likely  to  cultivate  it  than  a  modern  revival 
hymn  adapted  to  the  chorus  of  an  opera ;  and  a  pre- 
Raphaelite  representation  of  a  deformed  Christ  is  much 
more  likely  to  be  superstitiously  worshipped  than  a 
Rubens's  "  Descent  from  the  Cross."  Nor  has  the  world 
received  the  most  healthful  and  elevating  influence  from 


THE  ARTISTIC    VERSUS    THE  RELIGIOUS.  163 

poems  manifesting  more  faith  than  ideality,  like  Klop- 
stock's  "  Messiah,"  or  Pollok's  "  Course  of  Time,"  to  say 
nothing  of  countless  prose  hymns,  broken  into  lines  to 
look  like  poetry,  but  rather  from  works  like  the  "  Divine 
Comedy  "  of  Dante  or  the  "  Paradise  Lost  "  of  Milton, — 
works  written  by  men  who,  with  just  as  much  faith,  per- 
haps, have  known,  when  they  came  to  express  it  in  art, 
that  merely  the  ideality  associated  with  faith  could  be 
thus  expressed,  and  that  what  they  had  to  say  could  be 
fitted  into  poetry  in  the  degree  only  in  which  their  ideas 
could  be  represented  in  imaginative  form.  In  short,  like 
other  things,  art  invariably  does  the  best  for  itself  as  well 
as  for  that  with  which  it  is  associated,  when  it  is  attend- 
ing strictly  to  its  own  legitimate  business.  Notice 
further  suggestions  from  this  thought,  considered — where 
they  will  be  more  pertinent — in  the  concluding  paragraphs 
of  Chapter  XI. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SIGNIFICANCE    AS    ATTRIBUTABLE    TO    MENTAL    ACTION: 

SCIENTIFIC  CONCEPTIONS  CHARACTERIZED  BY 

KNOWLEDGE  ;   ARTISTIC  BY  IDEALITY. 

The  Knowledge  Resulting  from  Investigation,  and  its  Limitations  —  Ideas 
and  Ideals  —  Occupy  an  Intermediate  Position  between  Knowledge  and 
Faith  —  Enabling  us  to  Experience  through  Imagination  that  of  which 
we  cannot  Have  Knowledge  —  Quotation  from  Shakespeare  —  Words- 
worth —  Differences  between  the  Man  of  Ideality  and  of  None  —  Quota- 
tions from  The  Prelude  —  Peter  Bell  —  These  Differences  as  Important 
in  their  Bearings  upon  Success  in  Science  as  in  Religion  —  Shown  by 
Tracing  the  Method  through  which  an  Observation  of  One  Fact  leads 
to  the  Discovery  of  a  General  Law  —  The  Effect  upon  the  Mind  — 
Ideals  Stimulate  to  Effort  in  both  Art  and  Science  —  Conclusion. 


T^HAT  knowledge,  as  distinguished  from  either  faith 
or  ideality,  characterizes  a  scientific  conception, 
does  not  need  to  be  argued.  As  Professor  Huxley  says 
in  the  passage  quoted  on  page  138,  the  scientist  investi- 
gates the  lightning,  or  any  other  phenomenon  of  nature, 
because  he  believes  that  "  every  flash  that  shimmers 
about  the  horizon  is  determined  by  ascertainable  con- 
ditions ;  and  that  its  direction  and  brightness  might, 
if  our  knowledge  of  these  were  great  enough,  have 
been  calculated."  Such  a  statement  needs  no  proof. 
Nor  is  it  necessary  to  dwell  here  upon  the  distinctions 
between  that  tendency  to  activity  started  by  inspiration, 
which  the  Scriptures  term  "walking  by  faith,"  and  that 
started  by  investigation,  which  may  be  termed  walking 

164 


SCIENCE   CHARACTERIZED   BY  KNOWLEDGE.       165 

by  knowledge.  All  that  needs  discussion  in  this  chap- 
ter is  the  relationship,  including  both  likenesses  and 
differences,  between  the  scientific  conception,  as  char- 
acterized by  knowledge,  and  the  artistic,  as  characterized 
by  ideality.  This  relationship  reveals  itself  the  moment 
we  consider  the  very  evident  limitations  of  scientific 
methods.  Investigation  cannot  be  applied  to  everything 
concerning  which  a  man,  even  though  not  influenced  by 
inspiration,  is  prompted  to  exercise  thought.  There  is 
a  vast  deal  always  remaining  beyond  the  range  of  possi- 
ble knowledge.  As  Herbert  Spencer  says  in  his  "  First 
Principles":  "One  other  consideration  should  not  be 
overlooked, — a  consideration  which  students  of  science, 
more  especially,  need  to  have  pointed  out.  Occupied  as 
such  are  with  established  truths,  and  accustomed  to  re- 
gard things  not  already  known  as  things  to  be  hereafter 
discovered,  they  are  liable  to  forget  that  information, 
however  extensive  it  may  become,  can  never  satisfy  in- 
quiry. Positive  knowledge  does  not  and  never  can  fill 
the  whole  region  of  possible  thought.  At  the  uttermost 
limit  of  discovery,  there  arises,  and  must  ever  arise,  the 
question:  What  lies  beyond?"  This  is  a  question,  too, 
which  the  mind,  owing  to  its  own  nature,  cannot  prevent 
itself  from  trying  to  answer ;  nor,  in  doing  so,  can  it  do 
otherwise  than  pass  into  the  region  of  ideas ;  nor,  when 
it  passes  into  this,  can  it  prevent  these  ideas  from  being 
associated  with  forms  with  which  it  is  familiar,  and  from 
being  determined  by  principles  which  these  forms  illus- 
trate. Ideas,  however,  which  have  been  conformed  by 
imagination  to  certain  known  objects,  events,  or  expe- 
riences which,  nevertheless,  they  transform — ideas  which 
have  been  given  definiteness  of  figure  which,  nevertheless, 
they  transfigure — constitute  what  we  mean  by  ideals. 


1 66      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

This  understanding  of  the  word  "  ideals  "  will  suggest, 
at  once,  the  intermediate  position  (see  page  155)  already 
said  to  be  occupied  by  ideality,  between  faith  upon  the 
one  hand  and  knowledge  upon  the  other  hand.  Take, 
for  instance,  the  tendencies  of  instinct,  the  promptings  of 
conscience,  the  motives  to  activity,  which  on  page  159 
were  said  to  be  at  the  basis  of  faith ;  or  take  later  de- 
velopments of  these,  as,  in  time,  they  come  to  be  em- 
bodied in  theological  dogmas  or  creeds, — all  these  can 
make  a  man  no  more  than  an  enthusiast,  or  a  fanatic, 
unless  he  have  those  qualities  of  mind  which  we  term 
practical  ?  But  what  is  it  to  be  practical  ?  What,  but  to 
have  the  ability  to  accommodate  one's  speech  and  action 
to  existing  emergencies,  i.  e.,  to  surrounding  material 
conditions,  to  facts  as  discovered  by  investigation,  and 
comprehended  within  the  sphere  of  what  we  term  knowl- 
edge f  Only  as  that  which  takes  its  rise  in  the  realm 
of  spirit  is  correlated  by  a  man  to  that  which  is  in  the 
realm  of  matter,  so  as  to  find  expression  through  it,  can 
he  do  all  for  men  that  an  artist,  a  genius,  or  merely  a  man 
of  culture  should  do.  This  is  true  as  applied  to  him,  not 
only  as  a  thinker,  but  as  a  teacher  and  leader  of  others 
who  would  think.  No  one  can  cause  either  himself  or 
his  neighbor  to  apprehend  the  full  import  of  spiritual 
conditions,  whose  imagination  is  not  able  to  perceive 
the  correspondences  between  them  and  material  con- 
ditions. He  cannot  fully  recognize  the  religious  con- 
nection between  mercy  and  salvation,  or  faith  and  love, 
unless  he  can  illustrate  them  by  analogues  of  the  same 
in  secular  connections.  He  cannot  fully  realize  the  re- 
lations between  God  and  man,  unless  he  can  see  these 
relations,  or  can  cause  them  to  be  seen,  imaged  in  the 
relations  between  man  and  man,  especially  between  the 


KNOWLEDGE    VERSUS  IDEALITY.  l6/ 

Great  Master  and  man.  Indeed,  religion  cannot  become 
in  the  highest  sense  rational,  intelligent,  enlightening, 
unless  it  be  led  not  merely  by  ideas  but  by  what  we  have 
termed  ideals :  and  ideals  are  always  earthly  vessels  with 
heavenly  contents ;  outlines  modelled  on  the  lower 
world,  filled  in  with  light  and  color  from  the  upper;  fig- 
ures of  the  actual  transfigured  by  the  potential. 

Now  we  begin  to  perceive  the  best  of  reasons  why 
science,  as  pointed  out  in  Chapter  VIII.,  cares  primarily 
for  the  "  natural  order  of  the  phenomena  "  preceding  an 
appearance,  or  for  what  are  usually  termed  the  occasion- 
ing causes,  whereas  art  accepts  the  phenomenal,  being 
seemingly  satisfied  with  the  merely  apparent  effect.  It  is 
because  science  is  concerned  with  knowledge ;  and  one 
cannot  have  knowledge  without  some  comprehension  of 
preceding  material  conditions.  But  art  is  concerned  with 
ideals  ;  and  ideals,  however  much  or  little  one  may  know 
of  a  preceding  condition,  are  not  material.  They  are 
mental.  Circumstances  and  our  very  nature  prevent  all 
of  us  from  learning  about  more  than  a  few  objects  and 
from  experiencing  more  than  a  few  phases  of  life.  Never- 
theless, we  all  desire  to  possess  the  results  that  would 
ensue,  provided  such  were  not  the  case.  Therefore  the 
boy  who  cannot  have  the  experience  surmises  what 
might  be  the  experience  of  a  sailor  or  a  general ;  and  the 
man  in  the  same  condition  surmises  what  might  be  the 
experience  of  a  fairy  or  a  saint.  As  Shakespeare  says : 

The  poet's  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling 

Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven, 

And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth 

The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 

Turns  them  to  shapes  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 

A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  v.t  /. 


1 68      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

Or,  if  Shakespeare  belonged  to  an  unscientific  age,  let 
us  see  what  a  poet  of  our  own  age  has  to  say  on  the  same 
subject : 

We  strolled  along 

By  the  still  borders  of  the  misty  lake, 
Repeating  favorite  verses  with  one  voice, 
Or  conning  more,  as  happy  as  the  birds 
That  round  us  chanted.     Well  might  we  be  glad, 
Lifted  above  the  ground  by  airy  fancies 
More  bright  than  madness  or  the  dreams  of  wine  ; 
And,  though  full  oft  the  objects  of  our  love 
Were  false,  and  in  their  splendor  overwrought, 
Yet  was  there  surely  then  no  vulgar  power 
Working  within  us, — nothing  less,  in  truth, 
Than  that  most  noble  attribute  of  man, 
Though  yet  untutored  and  inordinate, 
That  wish  for  something  loftier,  more  adorned, 
Than  is  the  common  aspect,  daily  garb, 
Of  human  life.     What  wonder  then  if  sounds 
Of  exultation  echoed  through  the  groves  ; 
For  images  and  sentiments  and  words 
And  everything  encountered  or  pursued 
In  that  delicious  world  of  poesy 
Kept  holiday,  a  never-ending  show, 
With  music,  incense,  festival,  and  flowers  ! 


Visionary  power 

Attends  the  motions  of  the  viewless  winds, 
Embodied  in  the  mystery  of  words  ; 
There  darkness  makes  abode,  and  all  the  host 
Of  shadowy  things  work  endless  changes, — there, 
As  in  a  mansion  like  their  proper  home 
Even  forms  and  substances  are  circumfused 
By  that  transparent  veil  with  light  divine, 
And  through  the  turnings  intricate  of  verse 
Present  themselves  as  objects  recognized 
In  flashes,  and  with  glory  not  their  own. 

The  Prelude,  v.  :    Wordsworth. 


IDEALITY.  169 

i 

Between  the  man  who  has  the  conception  of  the  things 
surrounding  him  that  is  represented  in  this  passage  and 
the  man  who  has  not,  there  is  the  widest  possible  differ- 
ence. The  former,  to  quote  from  Wordsworth  again,  is 
characterized  by 

a  mind 

That  feeds  upon  infinity,  that  broods 

Over  the  dark  abyss,  intent  to  hear 

Its  voices  issuing  forth  to  silent  light 

In  one  continuous  stream  ;  a  mind  sustained 

By  recognitions  of  transcendent  power, 

In  sense  conducting  to  ideal  form. 

The  Prelude,  xiv.  :    Wordsworth. 

The  latter — the  man  of  no  ideality — passes  through  life  in 
the  condition  described  in  Peter  Bell : 

He  travelled  here,  he  travelled  there  ; — 
But  not  the  value  of  a  hair 
Was  heart  or  head  the  better. 

He  roved  among  the  vales  and  streams, 
In  the  green  wood  and  hollow  dell. 
They  were  his  dwellings  night  and  day, 
But  Nature  ne'er  could  find  the  way 
Into  the  heart  of  Peter  Bell. 

In  vain  through  every  changeful  year 
Did  Nature  lead  him  as  before  : 
A  primrose  by  the  river's  brim 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 
And  it  was  nothing  more. 

Peter  Bell:    Wordsworth. 

These  differences  between  the  man  with  ideality  and 
without  it  are  supposed  by  some  to  be  important  mainly 
because  affecting  the  mind  in  the  direction  of  religion. 
But  they  are  equally  important  because  affecting  it  in  the 


I/O      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

direction  of  science.  Consider  for  a  moment  the  funda- 
mental method  in  science — Why,  when  brought  face  to 
face  with  appearances  of  matter  or  of  mind,  does  the 
scientist  analyze  the  different  effects  in  each  ;  why  does 
he  trace  them  backward,  step  by  step,  to  their  ultimate 
elements,  and,  when  these  have  been  found,  and  often  not 
till  then,  compare  the  first  appearances  with  others  in 
which  the  effects  of  the  same  elements  are  visible?  Is 
there  any  better  answer  to  this  than  that  of  Sir  William 
Hamilton  in  one  of  his  "  Lectures  on  Metaphysics"? 
"  The  mind,"  he  says,  "  cannot  conceive  that  anything 
that  begins  to  be  is  anything  more  than  a  new  modi- 
fication of  pre-existent  elements ;  it  is  unable  to  view 
any  individual  thing  as  other  than  a  link  in  the  mighty 
chain  of  being  ;  and  every  isolated  object  is  viewed  by  it 
only  as  a  fragment  which  to  be  known  must  be  known  in 
connection  with  the  whole  of  which  it  constitutes  a  part." 
In  other  words,  according  to  this  philosopher,  the  answer 
to  our  question  is  that  science  proceeds  as  it  does  because 
it  has  a  conception  of  a  whole  which  has  appeared  in 
parts,  or,  as  philosophers  say,  a  conception  of  an  ideal 
substance,  or  an  ideal  of  a  substance,  which  has  the  pos- 
sibility of  appearing  in  effects,  though  it  does  not  itself 
appear.  But  what  is  the  nature  of  this  ideal,  and  whence 
is  it  obtained  ?  Its  nature  is  the  same  as  that  of  an 
ideal  in  art,  and  it  is  obtained,  just  as  is  an  ideal  in 
art, — through  the  imagination.  To  show  this,  let  us 
take  a  very  elementary  conception,  and  trace  it  to  a 
condition  in  which  it  passes  into  what  we  term  a  gen- 
eral law  or,  as  explained  in  Chapter  II.,  a  general  truth 
of  science. 

If  one  have  been  so  circumstanced  that  he  has  never 
known  of  more  than  one  death,  he  may   say,   "  A  man 


IDEALITY  IN  SCIENCE.  1 7 1 

appeared  for  a  little  while  and  then  vanished."  This  is 
not  an  expression  of  imagination,  it  is  the  statement  of  a 
fact  ;  and,  so  far  as  it  goes,  of  a  result  of  investigation. 
But  after  the  observation  of  many  deaths,  he  may  make 
the  statement  general.  He  may  say,  "  A  man  appeareth 
for  a  little  while  and  then  vanisheth."  Here  is  a  result  of 
investigation  which  has  had  added  to  it  a  result  of  imagi- 
nation. The  general  statement  is  made  because  the  lives 
of  many  persons  have  been  observed,  and  have  all  mani- 
fested the  tendency  indicated.  Again,  joining  to  his 
observations  of  men  an  observation  of  a  single  material 
appearance,  one  may  say  :  "  Man  is  a  vapor ;  he  appeareth 
for  a  little  while  and  then  vanisheth."  Here  we  have  a 
still  clearer  result  of  imagination  :  we  have  two  factors  of 
a  comparison  both  indicated,  namely,  man  and  vapor. 
Once  more,  observing  a  similar  tendency  not  alone  in  men 
and  in  vapor,  but  in  many  other  things,  one  may  make 
his  statement  universal.  He  may  say :  "  All  life  is  a 
vapor  "  ;  "  The  things  that  are  seen  are  temporal  "  ;  "  This 
life  's  a  dream,  an  empty  show."  But  notice  that  just  as 
soon  as  he  makes  his  statement  universal,  even  though 
his  surmisal  be  based  upon  such  wide  observations  of  life 
and  its  methods  that  his  words  have  almost  the  accuracy 
of  scientific  conclusions,  nevertheless,  he  has  gone  out- 
side the  realm  of  investigation  into  that  of  imagination. 
It  is  impossible  that  one  should  investigate  all  the  ob- 
jects, events,  or  experiences  to  which  a  universal  law 
can  apply.  He  can  associate  it  with  all  of  them  only 
so  far  as  he  can  conceive  of  them  as  being  imaged  in 
the  few  of  which  he  knows.  He  can  make  the  law  uni- 
versal only  so  far  as  his  mind  has  accepted  an  ideal  of 
the  whole  world,  framed  upon  the  particular  world  with 
which  he  is  acquainted. 


172      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

There  is  a  difference,  indeed,  in  the  way  in  which 
science  and  art  carry  out  this  principle, — science  never 
ceasing  to  investigate  so  long  as  investigation  is  possible, 
whereas  art,  as  we  have  found,  is  often  satisfied  to  do  no 
investigating  whatever.  But  in  the  end  the  same  prin- 
ciple is  operative  in  both.  It  is  the  effect  upon  our 
minds,  the  ideal  which  is  formed  in  these,  which  fur- 
nishes the  stimulus  of  effort  whether  in  poetry  or  philos- 
ophy. The  scientist  may  be  given  a  conception  of  no 
more  than  a  universal  material  substance,  the  methods  of 
the  operations  of  which,  when  ascertained,  furnish  the 
conditions  of  universal  laws,  or  truths.  Nevertheless  this 
conception  is  a  purely  mental  effect,  derived  from  nature, 
in  just  as  true  a  sense  as  is  the  less  indirect  and  more 
immediate  conception  of  significance  behind  material  na- 
ture which  is  awakened  in  the  mind  of  the  artist.  Other 
things,  undoubtedly  causing  many  exceptions  to  the  gen- 
eral rule,  being  taken  into  consideration,  it  cannot  be  dis- 
puted that  the  mind  most  likely  to  be  stimulated  to  the 
methods  of  science,  as  accounted  for  in  'the  passage 
quoted  from  Hamilton  on  page  170 — in  other  words,  the 
mind  most  likely  to  be  influenced  by  the  general  concep- 
tion of  unity  of  substance,  is  the  mind  most  likely  to  be 
influenced  also  by  that  conception  of  unity  of  significance 
which  resolves  itself  into  the  ideal  of  one 

Spirit  that  impels 

All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things. 
Lints  Composed  a  Few  Miles  above  Tintern  Abbey  :    Words-worth. 

All  that  was  said  at  the  end  of  Chapter  VIII.  with  ref- 
erence to  both  the  limitations  and  the  possibilities  of  the 
imaginative  mind,  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  the  investigative, 


IMAGINATION  IN  SCIENCE.  173 

on  the  other,  necessarily  applies,  in  general  principle, 
to  those  more  concrete  results  of  each,  respectively,  which 
we  have  in  ideality  and  in  knowledge.  Of  course,  there 
is  no  necessity  that  the  same  line  of  thought  should  be 
repeated  here. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SIGNIFICANCE    AS    ATTRIBUTABLE    TO    MENTAL    ACTION  : 

RELIGIOUS    CONCEPTIONS     TENDING    TO     EXPRESSION 

THROUGH    SPIRITUALLY    INFLUENTIAL   SUGGESTION  ; 

ARTISTIC  THROUGH  ANALOGICAL  REPRESENTATION. 

Subconscious,  Conscious,  and  Blended  Intellection,  as  respectively  Tending 
to  Spiritual  Suggestion,  Logical  Formulation,  and  Analogical  Repre- 
sentation— Inference  from  Hypnotism  concerning  Connection  between 
Influencing  Subconscious  Intellection  and  Giving  Suggestions — How- 
Religion,  as  Distinguished  from  Science  and  Art,  Influences  Feeling, 
Thought,  and  Conviction  Suggestively,  Shown  from  the  Methods  of 
Jesus — From  the  Nature  of  what,  Coming  from  the  Subconscious  Re- 
gion and  Having  to  Do  with  the  Unseen  World,  cannot  be  Formulated 
— This  True  as  Applied  to  the  Imaginative  Phraseology  of  Art — More 
True  as  Applied  to  the  Inspired  Phraseology  of  Religion  :  Dogmas  Not 
True  Scientifically — Nor  many  Statements  in  Scripture — Importance 
of  this  View — How  Religion  Suggestively  Influences  Life,  Conduct, 
and  Character — Illustrated  from  the  Analogy  of  Freedom  of  Action 
under  Hypnotic  Control — Conversion — Religious  Methods  Rendered 
more  Apprehensible  by  the  Analogy  between  them  and  Methods 
of  Hypnotism — The  Law  of  Self-sacrifice — The  Christ,  Creation, 
Future  Life — Why  Suggestive  Influence  is  Necessary  to  Stimulate 
Spiritual  Life — It  is  the  only  Spiritual  Influence  upon  the  Mind  in 
Harmony  with  that  of  External  Nature — Difference  between  Sug- 
gestive Expression  in  Religion  and  Representative  in  Art — Art  Bene- 
fits, even  religiously,  in  the  Degree  in  which  it  Confines  itself  to 
Representation,  Shown  in  Poetry — In  Sculpture  and  Painting. 

\\T HAT  has  been  said  of  the  derivation  and  character 

of  that   which    constitutes  the   subject-matter  of 

religion,  of  science,  and  of  art,  renders  it  inevitable  that 

174 


RELIGIOUS  AND   ARTISTIC  EXPRESSION.  1 75 

the  respective  expressional  results  of  each  should  be 
different.  Conceptions  determined,  as  in  religion,  by  the 
vague  promptings  of  subconscious  intellection,  inspired 
in  their  origin  and  infinite  in  their  reach,  and  in  this 
sense  spiritually  influential,  must  be  more  or  less  in- 
definite. An  indefinite  conception,  if  communicated  in 
such  a  way  as  to  preserve  its  character,  cannot  be  ex- 
pressed in  a  definite  form ; — that  is,  it  cannot  be  formu- 
lated, it  must  be  suggested.  Religion,  therefore,  may 
be  said  to  tend  to  expression  through  spiritually  influen- 
tial suggestion.  Conceptions  determined,  as  in  science, 
by  all  the  conditioning  causes  and  the  relations  between 
them  that  can  be  apprehended  by  conscious  intellection, 
must  be  more  or  less  definite ;  and  if  communicated  in 
such  a  way  as  to  preserve  their  character,  they  must  be 
expressed  in  a  definite  form,  and,  so  far  as  they  have 
to  do  with  causes  and  effects,  in  a  logical  form.  Science, 
therefore,  may  be  said  to  tend  to  expression  through 
logical  formulation.  How  now  is  it  with  art?  Its  con- 
ceptions have  been  said  to  partake  of  the  nature  partly  of 
those  of  religion  and  partly  of  those  of  science.  They 
must,  therefore,  be  partly  indefinite  and  partly  definite  ; 
and  their  expression,  therefore,  must  partake  of  the 
nature  partly  of  suggestion  and  partly  of  formulation. 
An  indefinite  suggestion  is  imparted  through  definite 
formulation  according  to  the  method  not  of  logic,  but 
of  analogy  ;  and  a  formulation  of  that  which  cannot  be 
definitely  communicated,  but  only  indefinitely  suggested, 
cannot  be  said  to  be  presented,  but  only  represented. 
These  are  the  reasons  for  maintaining,  as  will  be  done  in 
this  chapter,  that  an  artistic  conception  tends  to  expres- 
sion through  analogical  representation. 

The  use  of  the  phrase,  spiritually  influential  suggestion. 


1/6      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

will  probably  remind  the  reader  that,  on  page  106,  sug- 
gestion was  said  to  be  the  one  influence  universally  em- 
ployed in  hypnotism,  which  itself  may  be  said  to  be 
the  only  scientific  method  yet  discovered  of  attaining 
control  over  the  processes  of  the  subconscious  mind. 
But  what  is  the. object  of  religion,  or  of  the  expression 
of  any  religious  conception,  except  this  very  thing ; 
namely,  to  attain  control  over  the  subconscious,  or  spir- 
itual nature.  There  is,  too,  as  has  been  already  shown 
and  is  soon  to  be  shown  still  more  clearly,  an  indisput- 
able and  inevitable  connection  between  suggestion  and 
faith.  Indeed,  Thomas  J.  Hudson,  in  "The  Law  of  Psy- 
chic Phenomena,"  considers  the  strongest  argument  in 
favor  of  the  inspired  mission  of  Jesus  to  be  afforded  by 
the  fact  that  eighteen  hundred  years  before  scientists  had 
discovered  this  connection  the  Christ  had  proclaimed  it. 
Why  this  view  is  worthy  of  attention  will  be  indicated  in 
a  moment.  At  present  let  us  notice  the  two  directions  in 
which  suggestion,  if  used  as  a  method  of  influence,  natur- 
ally manifests  itself : — first,  in  the  character  of  the  words 
that  it  causes  to  be  uttered  and,  second,  in  the  character 
of  the  deeds  that  it  causes  to  be  done. 

In  considering  the  first  of  these  we  are  forced  to  recog- 
nize that  the  statement  that  suggestion  is  the  method  of 
expression  which  is  the  most  religious  in  its  nature  and 
effects  carries  with  it  the  conclusion  that,  in  itself,  a 
creed  is  not  religious  but  scientific,  for  it  does  more  than 
suggest  the  truth,  it  formulates  it  ;  and  that  a  ceremonial 
is  not  religious  but  artistic,  for  it  does  more  than  suggest 
the  truth,  it  represents  it.  Nor  will  the  statement  allow 
all  to  hold,  without  modification,  certain  views  that  they 
may  have  with  reference  to  the  methods  of  accepting  the 
phraseology  of  the  Scriptures.  These  objections,  however, 


SPIRITUALLY  INFLUENTIAL    SUGGESTION.        1 77 

are  not  insurmountable.  The  scientific,  artistic,  or 
literary,  added  to  that  which  exerts  a  religious  influence, 
need  not  necessarily  destroy  it.  In  such  a  case,  to  recog- 
nize that  each  can  affect  the  religious  nature  only  in- 
directly through  understanding,  emotion,  or  imagination, 
might  be  a  help  rather  than  a  hindrance.  To  go  immedi- 
ately to  the  most  indisputable  source  of  inspiration  and 
faith  of  which  we  know,  take  the  words  of  that  Master 
who  spake  "  as  never  man  spake."  So  far  were  his  words 
from  being  like  those  of  a  philosopher  formulating  a  sys- 
tem, or  of  a  leader  dictating  action,  that  hardly  two  asso- 
ciations of  men  since  his  time  have  been  completely  agreed 
as  to  exactly  what  body  of  belief  or  visible  organization 
most  accurately  represents  Christianity  as  he  proclaimed 
it,  his  apparent  theory  being  that,  if  men  came  to  take 
into  their  natures,  as  a  living  force,  the  inspiration  derived 
from  the  suggestions  that  he  gave  them — from  such  a  sug- 
gestion, for  instance,  as  that  they  were  sons  of  God — then 
that,  both  as  individuals  and  as  members  of  his  corporate 
church,  they  could  safely  be  left,  in  applying  the  sugges- 
tion, to  exercise  the  "  liberty  "  with  which  he  had  made 
them  "  free"  (Gal.  v.,  i).  Now  if  such  were  true  of  the 
words  of  Jesus,  why  should  it  not  be  true  of  the  words  of 
other  inspired  prophets?  Have  any  of  them  been  more 
truly  inspired  than  he  was? 

This  argument  from  example  may  be  confirmed  by  one 
based  upon  the  nature  of  the  conception  which  in  religion 
is  communicated.  Significance  obtained,  as  it  mainly  is 
in  science  and  largely  is  in  art,  through  the  conscious 
action  of  the  mind,  may  be  imparted  with  definiteness 
and  accuracy  to  an  extent  not  true  of  that  which  has  been 
obtained  mainly  or  wholly  through  subconscious  action. 
When  we  speak  of  scientific  truth  as  applied  to  a 


1/8      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

statement,  we  mean  something  that  formulates  the  mind's 
conscious  knowledge  of  every  essential  detail  entering 
into  the  general  result ;  we  mean  something  that  mani- 
fests no  defective  work  of  observation  or  of  memory. 
When  we  speak  of  religious  or  even  of  artistic  truth,  of 
truth  that  is  either  inspirational  or  imaginative,  it  is  often 
impossible  that  we  should  mean  this ;  for  we  are  speaking 
of  something  that  involves  certain  contributions  from  the 
mind's  hidden  sphere  of  action,  and  because  this  reveals 
to  us  no  form  that  can  be  perceived  or  even  distinctly 
conceived,  they  cannot  be  formulated.  They  can  be 
merely  represented  or  suggested.  Take  the  following: 

Why  man  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world 
Like  a  Colossus  ;  and  we  petty  men 
Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about 
To  find  ourselves  dishonorable  graves. 

Julius  Ccesar,  i.,  2  :   Shakespeare. 

Scientifically  considered,  hardly  one  word  of  this  is 
true.  No  man  who  ever  lived  could  bestride  the  world 
like  a  Colossus,  or  have  any  grown  man  not  a  dwarf 
walk  under  his  legs.  Yet  the  statement  is  not  false,  be- 
cause the  words  mean  merely  that  certain  spiritual  or 
mental  relations  existing  between  the  man  and  us,  which 
relations  cannot  be  seen,  are  the  same  as  those  that  might 
exist  between  the  height  that  might  be  supposed  to  be 
seen  in  a  Colossus  and  in  a  petty  man,  and  that,  there- 
fore, these  forms  that  might  be  seen  can  represent  or 
suggest  these  unseen  relations.  Or  take  another  illustra- 
tion : 

True  hope  is  swift,  and  flies  with  swallows'  wings, 
Kings  it  makes  gods,  and  meaner  creatures  kings. 

Richard  III,  v.  2  :  Idem. 


SCIENTIFIC  AND  RELIGIOUS  STATEMENTS.       179 

This  again  is  not  literally  or  scientifically  true,  but  only 
by  way  of  suggestion.  Hope  never  had  swallows'  wings ; 
and  it  takes  a  good  deal  more  than  it  to  make  kings  gods, 
or  meaner  creatures  kings. 

If  a  principle  like  this  apply  to  the  phraseology  of  art, 
it  must  apply  still  more  to  that  of  religion.  Notwith- 
standing the  many  ecclesiastical  controversies  concerning 
the  doctrine  of  "  eternal  generation,"  which  phrase  itself 
furnishes  a  fitting  commentary  upon  the  results  of  ex- 
treme literalism,  the  fundamental  conceptions  with  which 
this  doctrine  started,  and  which  are  accepted  by  most 
Christians,  are  not  in  a  scientific  or  literal  sense  true.  It 
is  not  in  any  such  sense  true  that  God  is  a  father,  or  Jesus 
a  son  of  God,  or  an  elder  brother  of  Christians,  or  that  the 
latter  are  children  of  Abraham.  Whatever  truth  may  be 
in  these  words  is  in  the  existence  of  a  relationship  in  the 
unseen,  spiritual  world,  which  may  suggest,  or  be  suggested 
by,  the  relationship  of  father,  son,  brother,  and  children 
as  it  exists  in  a  visible  and  material  world. 

According  to  the  same  analogy,  when  we  are  informed 
in  the  Scriptures  that  "The  Lord  spake  unto  Moses,"  or 
unto  some  other  prophet,  and  we  are  told  the  words 
spoken,  how  can  one  hold  that  we  are  justified  either  in 
affirming  or  denying  that  the  term  spake  refers  to  words 
heard  ?  Why  need  it  indicate  more  than  an  influence  ex- 
erted in  an  unseen,  spiritual  sphere  suggestive  of  that 
which,  in  the  material  sphere,  would  be  exerted  through 
the  use  of  language  ?  We  are  acquainted  with  this  method 
of  understanding  a  statement,  even  when  applied  to  like 
conditions  in  two  different  spheres  that  are  both  material. 
A  mother  explains  to  her  child  that  the  mother-bird 
pushes  the  young  birds  out  of  her  nest  and  tells  them  to 
fly  ;  or  she  explains  her  feelings,  when  the  child  does 


180      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM, 

wrong,  by  saying  that  she  is  angry.  In  both  cases,  she 
says  what,  scientifically  considered,  is  false  ;  yet  it  is 
strictly  true — in  spirit,  as  we  say.  And  how  else  can  we 
suppose  the  Scriptures  to  be  true  ?  If  thus  interpreted, — 
i.  e.,  considered  to  be  true  merely  in  spirit — we  can  ex- 
plain the  most  of  their  apparent  discrepancies.  We  can 
explain  why,  for  instance,  we  are  told  in  Ex.  xi.,  I,  2,  that, 
just  before  the  Israelites  were  to  leave  Egypt  forever, 
"  The  Lord  said  unto  Moses  "  .  .  .  "  Speak  now  in  the 
ears  of  the  people,  and  let  every  man  borrow  of  his  neigh- 
bor and  every  woman  of  her  neighbor,  jewels  of  silver 
and  jewels  of  gold";  and  yet  are  told  in  Ex.  xii.,  35, 
that  "  the  children  of  Israel  did  according  to  the  words  of 
Moses,  and  they  borrowed,"  etc.  If  scientific  accuracy 
had  been  the  object  here,  we  should  have  been  informed, 
in  both  cases,  either  that  the  Lord  originated  the  idea  or 
that  Moses  originated  it.  As  it  stands,  we  may  choose 
either  horn  of  the  dilemma.  Doing  this,  when  we  come 
to  consider  the  far  greater  discrepancy  indicated  between 
what  we  conceive  to  be  the  character  of  God  and  the 
advice  to  do  evil  that  good  may  come,  we  may  conclude 
that  these  passages,  interpreted  in  a  literary,  and  not  a 
literal  sense,  mean  no  more  than  that  Moses  was  inspira- 
tiorially  impressed  with  the  conception  that  he  should 
lead  the  people  out  of  Egypt,  and  obtain  funds  for  the 
purpose  in  the  best  way  that  he  could,  in  which  circum- 
stances the  natural  promptings  of  a  descendant  of  Jacob 
as  well  as  of  an  enslaved  race  impelled  him  into  advising 
the  subterfuge  of  the  false  pretence  of  borrowing.  So 
with  the  words  of  David  and  the  works  of  Joshua.  The 
accounts  of  these  picture  to  us  minds  inspirationally  im- 
pressed with  the  importance  of  suppressing  and  ending 
unrighteousness  and  idolatry.  If  these  minds  carry  out 


SUGGESTION  AS  INFLUENCING  THOUGHT.         1 8 1 

the  despotic  and  military  prompting  of  their  age,  though 
uttering  imprecatory  psalms  and  committing  wholesale 
slaughter,  such  manifestations,  though  suggesting  the 
feelings  and  methods  of  the  Lord,  do  not  necessarily 
express  them  with  scientific  accuracy.  Notice  again  what 
is  said  on  page  1 13. 

When  we  think  of  all  the  iniquity  and  cruelty  in  family, 
society,  and  state  which  have  resulted  from  the  extreme 
literalism  of  the  officials  of  ecclesiastical  organizations, 
we  cannot  avoid  feeling  that  the  interpretations  of  the 
Scriptures  rendered  possible  by  the  suggestive  nature 
of  all  religious  expression,  as  just  indicated,  may  be  as 
much  in  the  interest  of  philanthropy  as  of  philosophy. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  not  supposed  that  all  will  accept  these 
methods  of  interpretation.  Some  are  so  constituted  that 
they  imagine  that  inspired  words  cannot  be  true  unless 
they  are  true  literally.  There  are  some,  too,  who  think 
the  same  of  poetry.  But,  as  was  intimated  a  moment 
ago,  they  are  not  the  o.nes  who  understand  poetry  the 
best  or  get  the  most  truth  out  of  it. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  second  direction  in  which  sug- 
gestion, if  used  as  a  method  of  influence,  naturally  mani- 
fests itself,  namely,  in  the  character  of  the  deeds  that  it 
causes  to  be  done.  Mr.  Hudson,  in  "  The  Law  of  Psychic 
Phenomena,"  mentioned  a  moment  ago,  attempts  to  show 
that  the  result  of  suggestion  exerted  upon  the  subcon- 
scious mind  in  hypnotism  is  in  exact  accord  with  that 
produced  by  the  central  doctrine  of  Christianity,  namely, 
salvation  through  faith.  So  too,  one  may  add  here,  is  the 
freedom  with  which,  after  the  suggestion  has  been  ac- 
cepted by  the  mind,  the  subject  is  left  to  carry  it  out. 
He  is  told  "  You  are  Abraham  Lincoln,"  perhaps,  and, 
if,  exercising  a  form  of  faith  that  involves  a  voluntary 


1 82      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

yielding  of  his  own  will,  he  believes  the  words  that  are 
told  him,  he  becomes  to  his  own  conception  what  the 
hypnotizer  suggests.  Yet  the  hypnotizer  suggests  this  in 
only  a  very  general  way,  and  watches,  with  as  much  inter- 
est as  any  one  else,  to  see  what  will  be  the  result  of  his 
subject's  conception  of  Mr.  Lincoln's  character.  In  like 
manner,  according  to  the  Christian  theory,  when  Jesus 
told  men  that  they  were  sons  of  God  they  became  these 
by  believing  in  him  and  in  his  words  and  voluntarily 
yielding  their  wills  to  him  ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  merely 
suggested  a  conception  which  they  were  left  free  to  carry 
out  in  their  own  ways.  He  did  not  for  either  individuals 
or  communities  formulate  creeds  or  dictate  actions.  His 
followers  were  "called  to  liberty."  (Gal.  v.,  13.  Notice 
again,  too,  what  was  said  on  page  160.)  If  one  wonders 
how  his  suggestions  could  permanently  change  character, 
even  ordinary  hypnotism,  which  is  not  a  divine  but 
merely  a  human  agency  subordinating  the  conscious 
nature  in  such  ways  as  to  allow  the  subconscious  mind 
to  be  influenced  directly,  may  indicate  how  this  should 
be  the  case. 

Observe  the  following  from  an  article  by  Dr.  R.  Osgood 
Mason  on  "  The  Educational  Uses  of  Hypnotism  "  from 
the  "  North  American  Review  "  for  October,  1896.  "  In 
the  summer  of  1884,"  he  says,  "there  was  at  the  Salpe- 
triere,  a  young  woman  of  a  deplorable  type — a  criminal 
lunatic,  filthy  in  habits  and  violent  in  demeanor,  and  with  a 
lifelong  history  of  impurity  and  theft.  M.  Auguste  Voisin, 
one  of  the  physicians  of  the  hospital  staff,  undertook  to 
hypnotize  her  at  a  time  when  she  could  be  kept  quiet 
only  by  the  straight-jacket  and  the  continuous  douche  to 
the  head.  She  would  not  look  at  the  operator,  but  raved 
and  spat  upon  him.  M.  Voisin,  however,  kept  his  face 


SUGGESTION  AS  INFLUENCING  DEEDS.  183 

close  to  hers,  and  followed  her  eyes  wherever  she  moved 
them.  In  ten  minutes  she  was  asleep,  and  in  five  minutes 
more  she  passed  into  the  sleep-walking  or  somnambulistic 
state,  and  began  to  talk  incoherently.  This  treatment 
being  repeated  on  many  successive  days,  she  gradually 
became  sane  when  in  the  hypnotic  condition,  though  she 
still  raved  when  awake.  At  length  she  came  to  obey  in 
her  waking  hours  commands  impressed  upon  her  in  her 
trance — trivial  matters,  such  as  to  sweep  her  room, — then 
suggestions  involving  marked  changes  in  her  behavior ; 
finally,  in  the  hypnotic  state,  she  voluntarily  expressed 
regret  for  her  past  life,  and,  of  her  own  accord,  made  good 
resolutions  for  the  future,  which  she  carried  out  when 
awake,  and  the  improvement  in  her  conduct  was  perma- 
nent. Two  years  later  M.  Voisin  wrote  that  she  was  a 
nurse  in  a  Paris  hospital,  and  that  her  conduct  was 
irreproachable." 

There  are  several  other  of  our  religious  conceptions  that 
a  recognition  of  these  analogies  between  religious  and 
hypnotic  influence  may  render  more  explicable.  Take, 
for  instance,  the  conception  of  the  necessity  for  the  incar- 
nation and  atonement  of  Jesus.  As  a  rule,  even  such  a 
degree  of  confidence  as  must  antedate  the  influence  of  a 
hypnotizer,  must  depend  upon  his  subject's  belief  not  only 
in  his  ability  but  in  his  good  will  and  kindly  interest.  But 
what  can  afford  the  highest  evidence  of  these  ? — what  but 
love  ?  And  how  does  love  manifest  itself?  In  this  world 
it  is  simply  a  universal  law  that  love,  from  that  of  a  friend 
to  that  of  a  mother,  manifests  itself  in  self-sacrifice,  and 
the  degree  of  it  in  the  degree  of  self-sacrifice.  "  Greater 
love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life 
for  his  friend  "  (John  xv.,  13).  Take  again  the  conception 
of  the  spiritual  unity  of  the  Christ  with  God,  as  well  as  the 


1 84      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

associated  conception  of  which  the  church,  with  its  lit- 
eralism (when  applied  exclusively,  as  all  literalism  must 
be,  to  only  a  single  application  of  the  general  principle 
involved)  is  in  danger  of  losing  sight, — the  conception 
of  the  spiritual  unity  of  all  believers  with  God,  the  con- 
ception expressed  in  the  prayer  of  Jesus,  in  John  xvii., 
21,  "  That  they  all  may  be  one;  as  thou,  Father,  art 
in  me  and  I  in  thee,  that  they  also  may  be  one  in  us  "  :— 
what  in  human  experience  can  cause  us  to  conceive  of 
the  possibility  of  spiritual  unity  existing  at  the  same  time 
with  separate  personality,  as  well  as  an  understanding  of 
the  ascertained  fact  that  a  hypnotizer  can  actually  con- 
trol the  mind  of  his  patient,  and  yet,  as  in  the  case  in 
which  he  tells  him  that  he  is  Abraham  Lincoln,  can  allow 
him  virtual  freedom  of  both  thought  and  action  ;  allow 
him,  that  is,  to  develop  his  own  conception  of  Mr.  Lin- 
coln's character?1  Again,  take  the  statement  in  the  open- 
ing of  the  Bible,  that  the  world  was  created  in  six  days, 
and  the  corresponding  statements  in  Is.  xxxiv.,  4,  and  Rev. 
vi.,  14,  that  the  heavens  shall  finally  be  rolled  together  as  a 
scroll.  It  may  be  said  with  truth  that  there  is  only  one 
possible  explanation  in  accordance  with  which  such  state- 
ments can  be  shown  to  be  analogous  to  anything  supposable 
in  human  experience.  A  hypnotist  can  make  a  dozen  or 

1  The  fact  that  a  subject,  though  hypnotized  and  thus  caused  mentally  to 
develop  a  false  premise  (see  page  106),  nevertheless  usually  continues  to  give 
expression  to  his  own  idiosyncrasies — a  man,  for  instance,  to  manifest  his 
sense  of  dignity,  and  a  woman  her  sense  of  modesty— is  important.  It  shows 
not  only  the  groundlessness  of  much  of  the  fiction  which  ascribes  the  commis- 
sion of  crime  to  hypnotic  influence,  but  also  a  reason  for  supposing  that  the 
agent  of  expression,  however  elsewise  influenced,  is,  in  the  last  analysis,  the 
subconscious  self,  and  so  for  supposing  also,  so  far  as  the  conditions  throw 
light  upon  life  as  it  will  be  when  wholly  free  from  the  body,  that  selfhood, 
individuality  of  character,  will  continue  in  the  future  state. 


HYPNOTIC  AND  RELIGIOUS  INFLUENCE.          185 

more  men  all  agree  in  conceiving  of  themselves  as  being 
in  a  place  wholly  different  from  that  in  which  they  were  a 
moment  before.  What  is  to  prevent  millions  of  thinking 
creatures  from  being  made  to  perceive  a  world  created 
out  of  nothing,  and  kept  in  this  condition  for  generations 
and  then  being  made  as  suddenly  to  see  this  world  dis- 
appear? Nothing  except  a  lack  in  the  universe  of  power 
able  to  exert  a  broader  and  longer  influence  upon  the 
subconscious  mind  than  can  be  exerted  by  a  man.  Sim- 
ilar considerations  may  show  us  why  it  is  rational  to  sup- 
pose that  the  future  life  of  the  individual  should  be 
wholly  determined  by  his  present  life,  not  only  spiritually 
considered  but  intellectually.  In  the  results  of  hypnot- 
ism, we  have  a  picture  of  what  the  mind  does  when  its 
own  physical  powers  are  not  dominant  over  it.  What 
does  it  do?  It  goes  on,  till  the  hypnotizer  interferes,  de- 
veloping the  last  premises  presented  to  it.  It  perceives  in 
itself  and  in  its  visible  surroundings  whatever  the  hypno- 
tizer suggests  to  be  within  one  or  about  one.  It  experi- 
ences the  literal,  as  well  as  poetic,  truth  of  what  Milton 
says: 

The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 
Can  make  a  heaven  of  hell,  a  hell  of  heaven. 

Paradise  Lost,  i. 

Let  the  suggestion  embody  a  belief  in  the  Fatherhood 
of  God  and  the  brotherhood  of  souls, — ^what  could  pre- 
vent the  mind's  continuing,  after  being  freed  from  the 
body,  to  live  on  forever  in  the  same  belief  ?  "  To-day," 
said  Jesus  to  the  penitent  thief  upon  the  cross — "  to-day 
shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  Paradise "  (Luke  xxiii.,  43). 
Who  shall  say  that  it  is  not  strictly  in  accordance  with 
the  laws  of  this  world  as  well  as  of  the  next  that  this 


1 86      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

promise  should  be  fulfilled  ?  Again,  the  subconscious 
mind,  when  its  activities  are  once  started,  develops,  as  we 
have  found,  with  perfect  recollective,  logical,  and  illustra- 
tive consistency  that  which  previous  conscious  experience 
has  stored.  Now  so  far  as  what  is  thus  developed  has 
its  germs  in  previous  experience,  so  far  is  it  not  logical  to 
conclude  that  spiritual  life  in  the  next  world  must  con- 
tinue to  unfold  from  ideals  formed  in  this  world  ?  and,  if 
so,  have  we  not  a  provision  for  future  limitation  ?  But 
if,  at  the  same  time,  this  subconscious  mind  through 
memory,  logic,  and  imagination  can  develop  its  stores  in 
ways  practically  infinite,  then,  in  connection  with  limita- 
tion, have  we  not  also  a  provision  for  infinite  expansion  ? 
And  if  we  can  answer  these  three  questions  in  the  affirma- 
tive, can  we  not  perceive  more  clearly  than  otherwise  one 
reason  why  life  in  this  world  should  be  one  of  probation 
and  acquirement,  but  in  the  next  world  one  of  fruition  and 
rest  ?  And  can  we  not  perceive  also  a  true  sense  in  which 
the  exercise  of  creative  genius  may  be — not  alone  figur- 
atively as  some  suppose  but — literally  divine  ?  It  cer- 
tainly is  so,  if  the  divine  or  heavenly  life  be  a  life  of 
perpetual  imaginative  creation  developed  out  of  the  ex- 
periences obtained  on  earth.  Besides  this,  too,  if  subcon- 
scious minds  be  able  to  have  intercourse  with  one  another, 
what  is  to  prevent  the  discoveries,  inventions,  and  con- 
ceptions of  every  age,  which  must  necessarily  be  confined 
to  a  material  plane,  from  being  a  help  to  those  who  have 
gone  before  and  who  are  now  upon  a  spiritual  plane?  If 
nothing  can  prevent  this,  then  we  may  understand  why  a 
patriarch  of  old  could  be  pronounced  blessed  owing  to 
the  character  and  achievements  of  his  descendants,  and 
why  the  presence  of  a  cloud  of  witnesses  on  high  (Heb. 
xii.,  i)  should  be  used  as  an  inducement  to  one  who  cares 


SPIRITUAL  INFLUENCE  AND   SUGGESTION.       1 87 

little    for  anything   except   the   opportunity   of  helping 
others. 

Notice  now  that  there  are  the  best  of  reasons  why 
spiritual  influence  should  be  supposed  to  be  exerted  in 
the  suggestive  way  that  has  been  indicated.  In  what 
way  except  through  the  endeavor  to  understand  sug- 
gestions, and  to  embody  them  in  definite  mental  and 
material  forms,  can  spiritual  life  develop?  Even  by 
divinity  itself  could  it  be  developed  according  to  any 
other  method?  A  fully  formulated,  dictatorial  control 
relieves  a  man  of  the  necessity  of  thinking.  A  suggestive 
control  obliges  him  to  think.  Oblige  him  to  do  this, 
where  both  he  and  others  have  liberty,  and  no  matter 
how  unwisely  he  may,  at  first,  carry  out  suggestions, 
a  right  tendency  thus  started  will  ultimately  attain  com- 
plete righteousness  ;  a  little  leaven,  after  a  time,  after 
many  generations,  perhaps,  will  finally  leaven  the  whole 
lump.  It  is  probably  because  of  a  recognition  of  this 
principle  that  the  apostle  Paul,  in  2  Cor.  iii.,  6,  speaks  of 
himself  and  his  fellow  workers  as  being  "  ministers  of  the 
new  testament ;  not  of  the  letter  but  of  the  spirit ;  for  the 
letter  killeth,  but  the  spirit  giveth  life."  The  letter  kill- 
eth,  probably,  not  only  because  the  theory  of  literalism, 
so  conscientiously  advocated,  has  been  the  death  of  any 
belief  in  the  Scriptures  whatever,  on  the  part  of  large 
numbers  who — debarred  from  a  theory  which  might  ex- 
plain— cannot  fully  ignore  what  to  them  seem  to  be  their 
discrepancies ;  but  also  because  the  truth,  when  con- 
sidered only  in  itself,  so  far  as  it  is  supposed  to  be  iden- 
tical with  a  form  or  a  formula  (see  page  50),  fails  to 
stimulate  to  activity,  and  so  to  spiritual  life.  To-day,  as 
in  the  days  of  Adam  and  Eve,  knowledge  of  good  and 
evil,  so  far  as  it  is  accompanied  by  a  desire  for  nothing 


1 88      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

beyond  this,  tends  to  spiritual  death.  The  curse  of 
bigotry  and  priestcraft  lies  not  alone  in  the  fact  that  by 
false  forms-  and  traditions  they  make  void  the  truth,  but 
that  they  make  it  void  by  true  forms  and  traditions  so 
far  as  they  exalt  these  to  undue  importance  ;  so  far  as  they 
point  to  forms  logical  to  thought  or  attractive  to  the  eye, 
and  say  "  Know  these,  or  do  these,  and  thou  shalt  live." 
If  the  church  be  paradise  on  earth,  this  latter  Eden  may 
have  its  tempter  as  surely  as  the  former  one.  When  a 
man  is  told  that  he  can  attain  all  that  mind  or  soul  can 
need  through  accepting  some  dogma,  performing  some 
ceremony,  undertaking  some  service,  what  can  be  the 
result  but  to  counteract  the  tendency  to  faith  in  that 
which  is  unseen  ?  On  earth  the  soul  should  walk  by  faith, 
because  this  leaves  all  about  one  an  infinite  margin  that 
stimulates  desire  ;  and  only  through  desire  for  surer, 
purer,  better  things  can  intellect  be  developed  or  spirit 
sanctified. 

Such  a  view  of  divine  influence  as  thus  exerted  in  the 
invisible  realm  is  the  only  one  in  harmony  with  the  same 
as  exerted  in  visible  nature.  This  gives  a  brook  rocks  to 
rise  above  and  ledges  to  dash  upon,  that,  farther  on, 
through  their  agency  its  volume  and  speed  may  be  in- 
creased. So,  also,  nature  gives  a  man  personal  foes  to  rise 
above,  and  financial  woes  to  dash  upon,  that,  farther  on, 
through  their  agency  his  wisdom  and  energy  may  be  in- 
creased. Amid  material  obstacles,  the  man  who  tries  to 
save  his  life  by  flying  from  the  conflicts  granted  to  expe- 
rience may  lose  it  ;  but  the  man  who  pushes  forward, 
though  he  lose  his  life,  may  find  it.  Amid  spiritual 
obstacles,  the  soul  that  has  the  faith  to  move  is  vivified 
with  health ;  the  one  that  is  content  to  lie  and  sleep  and 
dream,  whoever  or  whatever  may  give  the  authority  to  do 


SUGGESTION  AND  REPRESENTATION.  189 

so,  is  only  stiffened  into  death.  Toward  this  alone  does 
any  organization,  which  by  ceremonies  or  by  creeds  can 
check  a  tendency  to  effort,  lure  its  deluded  devotees  ;  and 
all  the  more  so  if  it  call  itself  a  church. 

Now  let  us  notice  the  difference  between  spiritually 
influential  suggestion  in  religion,  and  analogical  representa- 
tion in  art,  though  a  full  explanation  of  what  is  meant  by 
the  term  analogical  must  be  left  to  the  next  chapter. 
The  difference  between  the  expressional  result  in  religion 
and  in  art  corresponds  of  course  to  that  already  noticed 
between  inspiration  and  imagination,  and  also  between 
faith  and  ideality.  Artistic  as  well  as  religious  signifi- 
cance has  a  suggestive  influence.  But  in  religion,  the 
nucleus  of  this  influence,  as  in  the  directions  of  the  hyp- 
notizer,  or  in  the  injunction  "  Follow  me,"  may  often  be 
conveyed  in  an  expression  indicating  no  result  whatever 
of  imagination  or  ideality,  and  therefore  none  of  art. 
Neither  is  an  expression  that  is  artistic,  even  when 
designed  to  be  religious,  invariably  religious.  This  fact 
follows  from  the  nature  of  that  to  which  men  trace  relig- 
ion and  art.  They  feel  it  to  be  inappropriate  to  express 
conceptions  intended  to  exert  only  spiritual  influence  in 
ways  that  involve  such  conscious  observation  and  use  of 
material  surroundings  as  are  necessary  in  artistic  represen- 
tative imitations.  For  this  reason  religious  suggestions, 
even  when  they  happen  to  be  communicated  as  are  those 
of  art, — i.  e.,  indirectly  and  through  forms, — are  generally 
acknowledged  to  have  a  religious  effect  in  inverse  ratio  to 
their  representative  effect.  A  Christian  man  through  his 
conduct,  and  a  church  through  its  services,  may  represent 
the  Christian  life,  but  the  moment  that  the  representative 
element  in  either  is  emphasized,  the  moment  that  it  is 
brought  to  our  attention  that  the  man's  actions,  attitudes, 


190      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

or  facial  and  vocal  expressions  are  assumed  for  the  pur- 
pose of  representing,  he  suggests  to  us  a  Pharisee,  if  not 
a  hypocrite.  With  art  it  is  the  opposite.  Its  object  is  to 
represent  ;  and  the  actor  upon  the  stage,  or  the  imitator 
of  real  life  as  delineated  in  the  drama  or  the  novel,  or 
depicted  in  the  picture  or  the  statue,  awakens  our  approval 
in  the  exact  degree  of  the  unmistakably  representative 
character  of  his  performance. 

In  Chapter  IX.,  when  speaking  of  ideality,  it  was  shown 
that  the  more  strictly  the  artist  confines  himself  to  his 
legitimate  work,  the  more  successful  will  this  be  both  in  it- 
self and  in  its  influence  for  good  upon  work  in  associated 
departments.  Notice  here,  in  analogy  with  what  was 
said  there,  that,  in  every  age,  art  in  the  exact  degree  in 
which  it  has  confined  itself  to  its  own  sphere  of  sugges- 
tion through  analogical  representation  has  been,  for  this 
reason  alone,  of  incalculable  benefit  to  the  development 
of  religious  truth.  It  can  be  said,  almost  without  qualifi- 
cation, that  in  all  times  of  extreme  traditionalism  and  un- 
enlightenment  art  has  proved  the  only  agency  that, 
without  offending  ignorance  and  superstition,  has  been 
able  to  counterbalance  their  influence.  It  has  done  this 
by  using  the  forms  of  nature,  and  contenting  itself  with 
the  truth  as  represented  in  them.  Guised  in  familiar 
aspects,  appealing  to  the  mind  by  ways  of  suggestion 
which  leaves  the  imagination  free  to  surmise  or  deduce 
whatever  inference  it  may  please,  the  thoughts  expressed 
in  art  do  not,  as  a  rule,  repel  even  the  most  prejudiced, 
or  excite  their  opposition.  A  man  in  Italy,  in  the 
thirteenth  century,  would  have  been  sent  to  the  stake  if 
he  had  made  a  plain  statement  to  the  effect  that  a  pope 
could  be  kept  in  hell,  or  a  pagan  admitted  to  paradise. 
Yet  when  Dante  pictured  both  conditions  in  his  great 


BENEFICIAL  INFLUENCES  OF  ART.  IQI 

poem,  how  many  questioned  his  orthodoxy  ?  The  mask  is 
a  fitting  symbol  for  the  poet,  not  only  because  the  classic 
actors  wore  one  in  presenting  tragedies  and  comedies,  but 
because  the  poet  himself  appears  in  one  whenever  he 
writes  objectively  or  dramatically — indeed,  one  could 
almost  say,  whenever  he  writes  artistically.  Words  and 
deeds  that  would  provoke  disesteem  and  persecution,  if 
employed  by  a  philosopher  or  an  essayist,  can  be  made  to 
fit  the  characters  or  situations  represented  in  a  poem  or  a 
novel,  and  never  raise  a  protest. 

So  with  the  themes  of  painting  and  of  sculpture.  What 
a  rebuke  to  the  bigotry  and  the  cruelty  of  the  Middle 
Ages  are  the  countless  products  of  the  arts  of  those  pe- 
riods, pleading  constantly  to  the  eye  against  the  savage 
customs  of  the  times  for  the  sweet  but  little-practised 
virtues  of  justice  and  charity  !  Within  our  own  century, 
too,  notwithstanding  the  traditions  of  society,  the  state,  and 
the  church,  which  have  often  exerted  all  their  powers  to 
uphold  and  perpetuate  slavery,  aristocracy,  and  sectarian- 
ism, recall  how  the  modern  novel  chiefly,  but  assisted 
largely  by  the  modern  picture,  has  not  only  changed  the 
whole  trend  of  the  world's  thought  with  reference  to 
these  systems,  but  has  contributed,  more,  perhaps,  than 
any  other  single  cause,  to  the  practical  reorganization  of 
them,  in  accordance  with  the  dictates  of  enlightened  in- 
telligence. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

SIGNIFICANCE    AS    ATTRIBUTABLE    TO    MENTAL    ACTION: 

SCIENTIFIC  CONCEPTIONS   TENDING  TO   EXPRESSION 

THROUGH   LOGICAL   FORMULATION  ;   ARTISTIC, 

THROUGH  ANALOGICAL  REPRESENTATION. 

Introduction — Formulation  rather  than  Representation  Necessitated  by  the 
Sources  of  Scientific  Expression  —  By  its  Nature  —  By  its  Results  : 
Science  Presents  Thought  Logically  ;  Art,  Analogically — This  Latter 
Fact  Renders  Form  Essential  in  Art — Also  Significance,  which  is  the 
Basis  of  the  Analogy  Expressed  through  the  Forms — Difference  be- 
tween that  which  Looks  like  and  which  also  Operates  like — To  Bring 
out  the  Latter  Involves  a  Higher  Effort  of  Imagination — Because 
Making  Art  in  the  Highest  Sense  Natural :  Illustrated  in  the  Novel, 
Drama,  Ballad,  Descriptive  Poetry — In  these  such  Comparisons  as  are 
not  Based  on  Analogies  Taken  from  Nature  are  not  Indicative  of  High 
Imaginative  Gifts — The  Same  Principles  Apply  to  Conceptions  of 
Poems  as  Wholes — To  the  Use  of  Separate  Words — Same  Principle 
Illustrated  in  Music — When  both  Artistic  and  Natural — Illustrated 
in  Painting  and  Sculpture — Further  Explanations — In  Architecture — 
That  Art  should  Represent  Analogies  through  Forms  not  Inconsistent 
with  its  Representing  Beauty — Relative  Use  in  Art  of  Natural  Beauty 
and  of  Ugliness — Representative  Expression  a  Limitation  to  Art ;  yet 
the  Reason  why  its  Products  Have  such  Enduring  and  Universal 
Influence. 

T  ET  us  now  consider  what  was  meant  on  page  175  when 
it  was  said  that  the  conceptions  of  science  result  in 
expression  through  logical  formulation.  While  doing  so, 
we  shall  be  able  to  indicate,  more  clearly  than  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  what  was  meant  when  it  was  said  that  the 
conceptions  of  art,  as  contrasted  with  those  of  science, 
result  in  expression  through  analogical  representation. 

192 


FORMULATION  AND  REPRESENTATION.  193 

The  distinctions  about  to  be  made  thrust  themselves 
upon  our  notice  whether  we  consider  the  source,  the 
character,  or  the  results  of  the  scientific  as  contrasted  with 
the  artistic.  The  conceptions  of  science  are  due,  as  we 
have  found,  to  an  investigation,  so  far  as  possible,  of  every 
condition  preceding  an  apprehended  phenomenon.  Of 
course,  what  is  thus  obtained  can  be  imparted  to  others 
just  as  it  is,  only  so  far  as  every  factor  entering  into  the 
knowledge  communicated  has  been  given  expression  in 
the  outward  form  of  communication,  or,  as  we  may  say, 
has  been  formulated.  On  the  contrary,  the  imagination 
of  art  draws  its  ideas  and  constructs  its  ideals  of  a  whole 
class  of  phenomena  from  observing  a  few  conditions  only, 
which  are  the  more  apparent  ones  and  are  taken  as  repre- 
sentative of  all  of  them.  It  is  evident  that  what  is  thus 
obtained  can  be  imparted  to  others  just  as  it  is  experienced 
in  the  mind,  only  so  far  as  these  same  few  conditions  can 
be  given  expression  in  the  outward  form  in  such  ways  as  to 
exert  on  the  minds  of  others  the  same  representative  effects. 

Again,  we  have  found  that  a  conception  of  science  differs 
from  one  of  art  in  character.  Many  of  the  agencies  which 
must  be  considered  in  order  to  have  a  knowledge  of  all 
the  intervening  links  of  influence  necessary  to  a  complete 
unfolding  of  scientific  knowledge,  cannot  be  connected  in 
thought  with  any  formal  appearance.  We  may  know  that 
some  force,  say  chemic  or  electric,  has  operated,  arid  we 
may  indicate  the  fact  in  a  formula,  and,  in  this  sense,  form- 
ulate it.  But  a  scientific  formulation — mathematic  or 
geometric,  for  instance — usually  indicates  the  interde- 
pendence of  the  conditions  for  which  it  stands  without 
conveying  the  slightest  conception  of  their  appearances. 
In  the  ideality  which,  as  shown  in  Chapter  X.,  charac- 
terizes art,  this  is  not  so  ;  the  imagination  conforms  the 
13 


194      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

ideas  to  the  outlines  of  certain  known  objects,  events,  or 
experiences.  Artistic  conceptions  are  therefore  neces- 
sarily connected  in  thought  with  form,  i.  e.,  with  a  visible 
or  audible  effect  which  is  referred  to,  or  is  imitated,  in 
order  to  express  them,  as,  in  such  cases,  they  must  be 
expressed,  by  way  of  representation. 

Finally — the  fact  most  pertinent  to  the  line  of  thought 
in  the  present  chapter  —  the  results  communicated  in 
science  and  in  art  are  different.  In  science  they  appeal  to 
the  understanding  and  reason,  and  to  do  this  they  must 
show  the  connection  between  each  occasioning  condition 
and  its  conditioned  effect.  The  expression  therefore  must 
be,  as  has  been  said,  logical, — sufficiently  so,  at  least,  to  be 
indicative  of  logical  sequences  in  the  development  of  that 
of  which  it  conveys  information.  On  the  contrary,  an  ex- 
pression may  be  artistic,  and  this  in  the  highest  degree, 
without  being  at  all  logical,  at  least  in  the  sense  of  being 
indicative  of  logical  sequences.  Imagination,  as  shown  in 
Chapter  VIII.,  is  accustomed  to  jump  the  steps  of  logic. 
Yet  often,  as  we  have  found,  through  subconscious  intel- 
lection, it  reaches  exactly  the  same  conclusions  as  are 
reached  by  investigation.  How  does  imagination  do  this? 
Through  arguing  not  logically  but  analogically.  The 
term  analogy  is  derived  from  two  Greek  words,  ava,  sig- 
nifying thereon,  and  AGIOS',  signifying  a  word.  The  con- 
ception underlying  the  term,  therefore,  seems  to  be  that  a 
natural  appearance,  i.  e.,  a  form  to  which  the  term  is  ap- 
plied, has  the  effect  of  a  word ; — that  it  is  a  part  of  that 
whole  of  nature  which  is  frequently  called  the  "  unwritten 
word."  Moreover,  analogy  implies,  beyond  this,  that 
some  one  natural  appearance  or  form  has  been  compared 
with  at  least  one  other,  which  is  found  to  furnish  a  word 
thereon,  or  a  word  in  addition,  so  that  the  two  or  more 


ANALOGY.  195 

appearances  taken  together  can  be  considered  as  words  of 
the  same  meaning  or  significance.  It  is  an  argument  from 
an  analogy  between  not  two  but  many — in  fact,  as  many  as 
possible — different  appearances,  that  causes  the  concep- 
tion of  the  unity  of  nature  mentioned  on  page  172,  or  of 
the  unity  of  meaning  in. art  as  expressed  in  the  following 
used  by  Carlyle  in  his  essay  on  "  The  State  of  German 
Literature  " : 

As  all  Nature's  thousand  changes 

But  one  changeless  God  proclaim, 
So  in  Art's  wide  kingdoms  ranges 

One  sole  meaning  still  the  same. 

An  argument  from  analogy  is  always  derived  from  a 
few  forms  that  are  representative,  on  the  one  hand,  of  a 
whole  series  of  forms,  and  are  representative,  on  the  other 
hand,  of  a  certain  mental  significance  that  is  expressible 
through  forms  alone,  and  is  actually  expressed  through  the 
particular  forms  thus  used.  Now  notice  that  if  a  man 
wish  to  communicate  with  the  greatest  possible  accuracy 
the  effect  upon  his  own  mind  of  an  analogical  argument, 
he  will  not  impart  it,  as  in  religion,  through  a  spiritually 
suggestive  statement,  or,  as  in  science,  through  a  logically 
formulated  statement.  •  To  do  either  would  merely  direct 
thought  and  emotion  into  channels  of  activity  leading,  in 
the  one  case,  into  faith  or  fidelity,  or,  in  the  other,  into 
knowledge  or  learning.  His  object  is  neither,  but  to  give 
others  an  experience  exactly  like  his  own,  i.  e.,  an  experi- 
ence of  that  association  of  ideas  with  forms  which,  on 
page  1 6 1,  is  termed  ideality.  How  can  he  accomplish  this 
object?  How  better  than  by  adopting  the  same  method 
through  which  nature  has  influenced  his  own  mind  ? 
How  better  than  by  himself  using,  for  the  purpose,  forms 
appealing  to  imagination  ?  How  better  than,  with  a  full 


196      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

sense  of  the  method  through  which  natural  forms  have 
influenced  his  own  thought  or  emotion,  by  reproducing 
them  in  such  ways  as  to  reveal  the  analogies,  and,  through 
them,  the  laws  and  principles  of  nature  which  they  have 
seemed  to  him  to  illustrate  ?  How  better  than  through 
what  is  meant  here  by  analogical-representation  ? 

This  last  paragraph  suggests  a  fact  which  must  never 
be  overlooked  when  considering  the  use  made  in  art  of 
the  forms  of  nature.  This  is  the  fact  that  just  as  truly  as 
the  suggestions  of  religion,  or  the  formulae  of  science, 
these  forms  are  meant  to  appeal  to  the  mind.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  it  is  important  that  they  should  illustrate 
analogies.  An  analogy,  as  has  been  said,  implies  a  re- 
semblance not  between  forms  so  much  as  between  the 
significance  expressed  through  the  forms.  But  that  there 
may  be  this  resemblance,  and  a  resemblance  that  it  is 
worth  while  for  art  to  represent,  the  significance  in  the 
forms  used  must  have  been,  preliminary  to  the  compari- 
son, rightly  interpreted.  Analogy  proceeds  upon  the 
supposition  that  every  form  of  nature  illustrates,  in  some 
way,  a  principle,  a  law,  a  truth,  and  that  this  is  confirmed 
by  an  illustration  of  the  same  principle  in  another  form. 
In  estimating  the  degree  of  success  therefore,  with  which 
imagination,  ideality,  and  representation,  as  manifested  in 
art,  give  expression  to  significance,  we  must  learn  to  take 
a  comprehensive  view  of  the  subject.  Analogy  includes 
likeness  both  in  the  external  forms  and  in  the  internal 
methods  of  formation,  and  in  the  forms  chiefly  because 
they  exemplify  the  like  methods. 

That  a  man  recognizes  this  latter  phase  of  resemblance 
is  one  of  his  surest  ways  of  proving  that  he  understands 
art  in  its  entirety.  Every  schoolboy  believes  himself  to 
be  a  literary  genius  in  the  degree  in  which,  in  details  of 


ANALOGICAL    REPRESENTATION.  197 

form,  he  can  use  comparisons  as  in  similes  and  metaphors; 
and  the  first  thing  of  which  the  most  ignorant  peasant 
thinks,  when  brought  face  to  face  with  a  work  of  painting 
or  sculpture,  is  whether,  in  details  of  form,  it  bears  com. 
parison  with  the  natural  object  which  it  represents.  But 
that  which  occurs  neither  to  the  schoolboy,  nor  to  the 
peasant,  nor  to  the  majority  of  people  in  any  condition, 
is  to  draw  a  distinction  between  a  merely  superficial  and 
an  organic  comparison  ;  between  that  which  looks  like 
and  that  which  operates  like.  In  the  following,  for  in- 
stance, the  resemblance  is  superficial : — 

And  far  in  the  hazy  distance 

Of  that  lovely  night  in  June, 
The  blaze  of  the  flaming  furnace 

Gleamed  redder  than  the  moon. 

The  Bridge  :  Longfellow. 

But  in  this  the  resemblance  is  in  the  operation : 

And  like  those  waters  rushing 

Among  the  wooden  piers, 
A  flood  of  thoughts  came  o'er  me 

That  filled  my  eyes  with  tears. 

Idem. 

Now  in  contrast  to  both  of  the  above,  notice  the 
following : 

Not  from  the  grand  old  masters, 

Not  from  the  bards  sublime, 
Whose  distant  footsteps  echo 

Through  the  corridors  of  time. 

The  Day  is  Done  :  Idem. 

In  this  last,  the  appearance  of  different  epochs  through 
which   we   mark    the   stretch    of    time   is    compared    to 


198      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

that  of  corridors  in  a  hall ;  and,  together  with  this,  the 
movement  of  thought  in  the  mind,  as  reported  in  the 
poetry  of  each  period,  is  compared  to  the  footsteps  of 
persons  moving  in  the  corridors.  Hence  a  resemblance 
is  indicated  both  in  appearance  and  in  operation,  and  for 
this  reason  we  probably  all  feel  that,  as  contrasted  with 
the  former  quotations,  this  last  involves  a  higher  effort  of 
the  imagination.  In  Chapter  III.  it  was  shown  that  what 
we  term  the  truth  of  nature  can  be  known  only  so  far 
as,  through  its  forms,  its  methods  of  operation  are  made 
known.  The  same  principle  must  apply  to  whatever 
forms  may  be  supposed  to  represent  nature.  A  work  of 
art  completes  our  ideal  of  that  which  should  characterize 
an  image  of  nature,  in  the  degree  only  in  which  it  is  a 
word  in  addition,  in  the  sense  of  being  something  that  both 
suggests  nature  in  appearance  and,  at  the  same  time,  ex- 
emplifies the  laws  that  operate  in  nature.  We  term  the 
work  one  of  creative  imagination  mainly  because,  in  both 
form  and  significance,  in  the  way  in  which  it  appeals  to 
both  the  physical  senses  and  to  the  whole  mind,  it  seems 
to  be  a  continuation  of  the  work  of  creation. 

Indeed,  whenever  we  term  a  product  of  art  "  natural," 
and  argue  that,  because  it  is  so,  it  is  artistically  effective, 
we  include  in  the  term  "  natural  "  a  conception  both  of 
form  and  of  conditions  which  precede  and  determine 
form.  For  instance,  we  all  recognize  that  the  events 
portrayed  in  a  drama  or  a  novel  are  effective  in  the  degree 
in  which  they  are  natural  to  the  conditions  that  lead  up 
to  them,  i.  e.,  to  the  causes  occasioning  them.  We  deem 
them  so  in  the  degree  in  which  the  author  seems  simply 
to  transfer  to  an  ideal  world,  amid  ideal  surroundings  and 
events,  the  same  developments  of  love  and  hate,  of  joy 
and  suffering,  which  would  be  experienced  by  real  persons 


THE   ANALOGICAL   AND   THE   NATURAL.  199 

placed  in  like  circumstances.  The  simplest  ballad  is 
effective  in  the  degree  in  which  it  portrays  the  experience 
of  some  members  of  the  human  family  after  a  method  so 
accordant  with  the  course  of  nature  that  the  reader  feels 
that  it  would  be  the  experience  of  all  its  members  of 
similar  temperament  and  similarly  circumstanced.  De- 
scriptive poetry  is  effective  chiefly  in  the  degree  in  which 
it  suggests  the  operations  of  the  general  laws  of  nature 
through  the  outlines  of  the  special  forms  which  it  deline- 
ates. It  produces  the  highest  effects  ;  it  becomes  sublime 
alone  in  the  degree  in  which,  like  some  of  the  poetry 
of  Wordsworth,  it  suggests  resemblances  between  the 
methods  of  the  material  universe  and  the  operations  of 
the  mind. 

On  the  contrary,  no  mere  collecting,  no  mere  crowding 
of  comparisons,  can  add  real  effectiveness  to  a  composition 
if  these  fail  to  indicate  analogies  existing  in  the  nature  of 
things.  Sometimes  similar  operations  are  pointed  out  in 
objects,  one  of  which  does  not  exist  in  nature.  Thus,  in 
the  following  the  mind  is  likened  to  a  machine : 

And  now  I  see  with  eye  serene 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine, 
A  Being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 
A  Traveller  between  life  and  death. 

She  was  a  Phantom  of  Delight  :  Wordsworth. 

And  in  this  a  man  and  a  woman  are  likened  to  a  bow  and 
its  cord  : 

As  unto  the  bow  the  cord  is, 

So  unto  the  man  is  woman  ; 

Though  she  bends  him,  she  obeys  him, 

Though  she  draws  him,  yet  she  follows, 

Useless  each  without  the  other. 

Hiawatha,  x.  :  Longfellow. 


200      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

Do  any  of  us  fail  to  recognize  the  lack  of  poetic  effective- 
ness in  comparisons  like  these  ?  How  different  are  they 
from  any  one  of  the  comparisons  in  the  verses  at  the  end 
of  the  paragraph  following  this  ! 

The  analogies  of  poetry  may  be  expressed  either  in  the 
general  theme  or  in  the  special  details  that  constitute  the 
style.  The  "  Divine  Comedy  "  of  Dante  and  the  "  Para- 
dise Lost  "  of  Milton  represent,  according  to  the  analogies 
of  earthly  experience,  spiritual  life  as  a  whole  ;  but  the 
tendency  to  think  analogically  is  no  more  apparent  in  the 
general  plots  of  these  poems  than  in  the  shortest  terms 
and  phrases.  It  might  not  be  too  much  to  say  that  every 
word  that  one  ever  uses  has  truth  and  beauty  and  history 
embodied  in  it.  In  its  first  conception,  either  its  sound 
or  its  sense,  or,  if  compound,  its  structure,  is  analogous,  in 
a  sphere  of  form,  to  some  experience  of  consciousness,  or 
to  relations  between  different  experiences  of  conscious- 
ness in  a  sphere  of  thought.  Analogies  too,  expressed 
thus  in  the  earliest  words  of  the  natural  man,  are  still  per- 
ceptible in  every  language,  and  are  recognized  as  essen- 
tial in  causing  style  to  be  artistic.  Notice  the  italicized 
words  in  the  following;  and  also  the  relations  between 
the  different  italicized  words  in  the  same  phrases  : 

That  all  the  jarring  notes  of  life 
Seem  blending  in  a  psalm, 
And  all  the  angles  of  its  strife 
Slow-rounding  into  calm. 

My  Psalm:    Whittier. 

I  like  the  people, 
But  do  not  like  to  stage  me  to  their  eyes. 

Measure  for  Measure,  i.,  I  :    Shakespeare. 

Fasten  your  ear  on  my  advisings. 

iii.    I  ;  Idem, 


ANALOGY  IN  MUSIC.  2OI 

i 

No  marvel  though  you  bite  so  sharp  at  reasons, 
You  are  so  empty  of  them. 

Troilus  and  Cressida,  ii. ,  2  :  Idem. 

My  reformation,  glittering  o'er  my  fault, 
Shall  show  more  goodly  and  attract  more  eyes 
Than  that  which  hath  no  foil  to  set  it  off. 

i  Henry  IV.,  i.,2:  Idem. 

How  sharp  the  point  of  this  remembrance  is  ! 

Tempest,  iv.,  I  :  Idem. 

To  teach  the  young  Idea  how  to  shoot. 

The  Seasons,  Spring :   Thomson. 

The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain. 

The  Deserted  Village  :  Goldsmith. 

If  we  turn  now  from  poetry  to  music,  we  shall  find  that 
in  this  art,  too,  effectiveness,  so  far  as  this  depends  upon 
naturalness,  is  determined  by  truth  to  the  analogies  of 
nature.  Indeed,  it  is  not  possible  for  the  majority  of  our 
music  to  be  true  to  nature  in  any  other  sense.  Nature 
furnishes  art  with  sounds  produced  by  moving  objects,  as 
vibrating  reeds  or  cords,  and  by  the  accents  of  men  and 
animals  ;  but  in  no  respect  is  a  work  of  music  a  literal 
imitation  of  these.  Nevertheless,  when  listening  to  the 
expression  of  naive  flirtation  in  such  a  ballad  as  "  Comin* 
thro'  the  Rye,"  or  of  despairing  love  in  one  like  "  When 
Sparrows  Build,"  or  of  reminiscences  of  woods  and 
streams  such  as  are  recalled  in  the  pastoral  symphonies  of 
Beethoven  or  Handel,  or  in  the  bird-music  in  Wagner's 
Siegfried,  we  all  feel  like  exclaiming,  "  How  natural !  " 
Evidently  the  phrase  implies  no  more  than  that  the  same 
tendencies  which  control  the  audible  expression  of  certain 
conditions  in  nature  are  present  as  controlling  elements  in 


202      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

the  sounds  of  art ;  in  other  words,  that  the  tones  operate 
according  to  such  a  mode  that  their  effects  upon  the  mind 
are  analogous  to  the  effects  of  nature. 

An  illustration  of  this  truth  may  be  derived  from  the 
manner  in  which  the  papal  choir  in  the  Sistine  Chapel 
at  Rome  were  formerly  accustomed  to  introduce  the 
Christmas  carols  and  also  the  Miserere  of  Holy  Week. 
Each  was  preceded  by  a  refrain  chanted  through  long 
hours  until  one's  whole  ear — in  fact,  one's  whole  be- 
ing— was  thoroughly  exhausted  by  the  monotony  of  it. 
At  last,  just  as  one  seemed  wearied  to  the  point  of 
leaving  the  chapel,  the  choir  would  break  into  the  glori- 
ous chords  that  had  been  so  long  expected.  From  the 
effect,  everybody  recognized  this  method  of  introducing 
the  music  to  be  thoroughly  artistic.  Few,  perhaps,  had 
the  discrimination  to  perceive  that  it  was  so  because 
thoroughly  natural.  In  nature,  it  is  often  the  contrast 
between  the  confusion  occasioned  by  the  struggle  and 
bustle  of  ordinary  life  and  the  satisfaction  suggested  by 
the  harmony  and  sweetness  pervading  the  world  of  sound, 
that  causes  the  chief  enjoyment  to  be  derived  from 
music.  Even  those  who  have  no  ear  for  the  art  recog- 
nize the  peculiarly  soothing  influence  of  the  notes  of 
birds  and  insects  at  evening — above  all,  of  the  voices 
of  friends  in  the  family  circle,  supplanting  the  business- 
din  of  the  day.  Who  has  not  sat  for  hours,  charmed 
by  the  sweet  accents  of  one  whose  thoughts  and  per- 
son, aside  from  this  one  characteristic,  had  no  attraction 
for  him  ?  And  who  has  not  been  irritated  himself,  and 
seen  others  almost  kept  in  discord,  by  the  unmusical, 
discordant  tones  of  some  one,  in  other  respects  by  no 
means  unamiable  or  unworthy?  With  good  reason  does 
Longfellow  say : 


ANALOGY  IN  PLASTIC  ART.  20$ 

Then  read  from  the  treasured  volume 

The  poem  of  thy  choice, 
And  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the  poet 

The  beauty  of  thy  voice. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 

And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day 
Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs 

And  as  silently  steal  away. 

The  Day  is  Done  :  Longfellow. 

It  is  mainly,  too,  by  the  contrast  afforded  between  a 
realm  known  only  to  the  soul  and  one  apprehended  only 
by  the  senses;  by  the  transition  from  the  subjectivity 
of  dreaming  to  the  objectivity  of  listening,  that  such 
transcendent  sweetness  is  sometimes  imparted  to  the 
serenade  at  midnight,  and  also  to  the  songs  of  the  birds 
at  daybreak. 

Even  in  the  more  imitative  arts  of  painting  and  sculp- 
ture, this  principle  will  be  found  to  hold  good.  If  we 
apply  the  term  "natural"  to  the  products  of  one  of  these 
arts,  we  do  not  mean  to  praise  it  solely  for  its  pho- 
tographic qualities.  The  portrait  and  the  bust,  which 
reproduce  the  forms  of  nature  most  perfectly,  are  not 
necessarily  entitled  to  the  highest  rank  ;  and  when  they  are 
entitled  to  it,  like  the  works  of  Titian  or  Velasquez,  they 
rank  thus  not  merely  on  account  of  the  accuracy  of  their 
imitation,  but  also  because,  in  addition  to  this,  they 
have  the  quality  to  which  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  referred 
when  he  snapped  his  fingers,  saying  of  a  work,  "  It  wants 
that''  No  matter,  at  present,  what  this  quality  is.  The 
subject  has  been  discussed  at  length  in  Chapters  IV.  to 
VIII.  of  "  Art  in  Theory."  Just  now,  it  is  enough  for 
us  to  recognize  that  the  value  of  a  portrait  or  a  bust  does 
not  depend  alone  upon  its  accuracy  as  a  copy.  Nor, 
even  were  this  the  case,  could  "  natural,"  as  the  term  is 


204      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

used,  be  applied  to  it  with  any  more  propriety  than  to 
a  picture  of  the  Madonna,  whom  Raphael  never  saw  ;  or 
to  a  landscape  of  scenes  in  Greece  which  Rottmann  never 
beheld  ;  or  to  a  statue  of  the  struggles  of  a  Laocoon, 
which  existed  only  in  the  brain  of  a  Virgil. 

We  are  told  that  when  Pheidias  was  competing  for 
a  colossal  statue  of  Minerva,  the  Athenians  who  saw 
his  work  before  it  had  been  raised  upon  its  pedestal 
declared  its  features  to  be  distorted  and  ugly,  whereas 
those  of  the  product  of  his  rival,  Alcamenes,  appeared 
to  be  full  of  symmetry  and  beauty.  But  after  both 
works  had  been  lifted  to  their  appropriate  places,  and 
were  examined  from  the  intended  point  of  view,  this 
decision  of  the  people  was  reversed.  Then  the  Minerva 
of  Pheidias  alone  exhibited  the  effects  that  all  desired. 
It  did  this  because  Pheidias  had  recognized  that  it  was 
necessary  to  do  more  than  copy  accurately  the  appear- 
ances of  nature ;  that  it  was  necessary  to  consider  certain 
conditions  preceding  these  appearances.  When  we  say 
that  a  work  of  painting  or  sculpture  is  "  natural,"  we 
include  the  conception  of  its  fulfilling  the  same  condi- 
tions as  are  fulfilled  in  the  works  of  nature;  in  other 
words,  the  conception  that  the  effects  produced  upon  the 
senses  and  mind  are  analogous  to  those  produced  by 
the  imitated  appearances. 

That  a  similar  principle  applies  in  architecture  hardly 
needs  stating.  The  forms  in  a  building,  unless  works  of 
sculpture,  are  artistic  less  on  account  of  an  imitation  of 
nature — even  of  the  structures  of  the  primitive  nat- 
ural man, — than  because  they  are  constructed  so  as  to 
operate  according  to  the  methods  or  analogies  of  nature 
— so  as  to  shed  the  snow,  to  keep  out  the  water,  to  ward 
off  the  wind,  as  well  as  to  operate  aesthetically  upon  the 


ANALOGY  AND  BE  A  UTY*-'  tm>J  **          2O$ 

eye,  in  the  way  of  effects  of  light,  shade,  color,  bulk,  bal- 
ance, proportion,  and  symmetry,  according  to  the  anal- 
ogies of  appearances  which  in  nature  are  recognized  to  be 
beautiful. 

This  last  word  suggests  a  thought  which  ought,  per- 
haps, to  be  added.  So  much  has  been  said  here  about 
analogy  as  underlying  the  use  of  representative  form  in 
art,  that  some  may  fancy  that  too  little  emphasis  has  been 
given  to  the  element  of  beauty,  which  is  generally  con- 
sidered to  be  of  paramount  aesthetic  importance.  But  no 
inference  detrimental  to  the  importance  of  beauty  need 
follow  legitimately  upon  the  line  of  thought  just  un- 
folded. Our  standards  of  beauty,  concerning  which  the 
reader  may  consult  Chapters  X.  to  XIV.  of  "  Art  in 
Theory,"  are  derived  primarily  from  certain  forms  of 
nature,  which,  because  attractive  and  charming  in  them- 
selves, cause  men  to  like  to  look  at  them  and  to  think 
about  them.  Accordingly,  if  a  man  wish  to  produce 
forms  of  art  which  men  will  like  to  look  at  and  to  think 
about,  it  is  merely  a  dictate  of  policy,  and,  if  he  be  an 
artist,  it  is  generally  a  dictate  of  preference,  for  him  to 
select  these  forms  for  his  models  ;  and  in  the  degree  in 
which  he  reproduces  them,  or  any  effects  analogous  to 
theirs,  his  product  will  have  beauty.  What  is  to  prevent 
his  selecting  them  because,  viewed  in  one  aspect,  they  are 
beautiful  ;  and  yet  also  selecting  them  because,  viewed  in 
another  aspect,  they,  as  well  as  all  other  natural  forms,  are 
analogical  ?  Certainly  there  is  no  conflict  between  the 
conception  that  beauty  is  of  paramount  aesthetic  import- 
ance, and  the  conception  that  the  effects  obtained  through 
the  use  of  beauty  should  be  analogical. 

Nor  need  it  be  supposed  that  what  has  been  said  en- 
dorses the  mistaken  view  that  any  subject  which  is 


2O6      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

"  natural  "  is  legitimate  for  artistic  treatment.  The  truth 
seems  to  be  that  ugliness,  simply  because  it  is  repulsive, 
is  not  legitimate  in  art  except  so  far  as,  by  way  of  con- 
trast, as  in  the  case  of  shadows  which  throw  that  which 
they  surround  into  brighter  relief,  the  ugliness  enhances 
the  beauty  to  which  it  is  kept  in  manifest  subordination. 
What  the  particular  phases  of  this  beauty  shall  be  must 
be  determined,  of  course,  by  the  taste  of  the  artist. 
But  their  effectiveness  will  depend  upon  his  powers  of 
observation  and  his  study  of  the  analogies  of  nature. 
Beauty  is  never  so  attractive  as  when  it  appears  in  the 
dignity  attaching  to  the  creative  proportions  there  ;  truth 
is  never  so  operative  as  when  it  manifests  the  sanction  of 
the  laws  of  the  Creator  that  are  there  embodied. 

Evidently  the  general  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  the 
line  of  thought  unfolded  in  this  chapter  corresponds  t6 
that  which  was  drawn  at  the  ends  of  Chapters  IX.  and  XL 
The  fact  that  the  conceptions  of  art,  as  distinguished  from 
those  of  religion  and  of  science,  cannot  communicate  signif- 
icance except  through  the  use  of  analogically  representa- 
tive forms,  involves  a  limitation,  which,  like  all  limitations 
is,  in  one  sense,  a  source  of  weakness.  But,  in  another 
sense,  it  is  a  source  of  strength,  and  a  source  of  this  in 
the  exact  degree  in  which  its  limitations  are  clearly  recog- 
nized and  no  effort  is  made  to  transgress  them.  What 
but  a  consciousness  of  these  limitations  has  caused  all 
our  great  artists,  when  desiring  to  make  their  presenta- 
tions of  truth  accord  with  the  degree  of  knowledge  or  the 
phase  of  thought  of  their  own  period  or  country,  to  con- 
tent themselves,  in  place  of  discussing  and  explaining  con- 
ditions, with  merely  describing  their  appearances?  But 
notice  that  it  is  precisely  because  they  have  contented 
themselves  with  this,  that  progress  in  knowledge  and 


ARTISTIC  LIMITA  TIONS  A  SOURCE  OF  STRENGTH.      2O/ 

thought,  which  is  constantly  rendering  obsolete. the  re- 
sults presented  in  science  and  philosophy,  and  even  sys- 
tems of  religion,  does  not  interfere  with  the  enduring 
influence  of  works  of  art.  In  these  works,  certain  appear- 
ances of  material  or  human  nature  have  been  selected  for 
reproduction.  Through  unique  combinations  of  these, 
the  significance  behind  them  has  been  brought  out  more 
uniquely,  yet  the  inferences  which  are  drawn  from  them, 
so  far  as  art  is  strictly  and  solely  representative,  can  be 
drawn  with  as  little  arbitrary  bias  as  from  nature  itself. 
Art  of  this  character  can  appeal  to  the  intelligence  and  the 
sympathy  of  all  audiences  of  all  periods.  Its  significance 
can  be  perceived  and  felt  wherever  men  have  eyes  or 
ears,  for  its  products  continue  always  to  be  what  they 
were  when  first  conceived, — faithful  images  of  the  real  life 
by  which  humanity  is  constantly  surrounded. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

ARTISTIC    SIGNIFICANCE    AS    ATTRIBUTABLE    TO    BODILY 

ACTION,   AND    HAVING  ITS   SOURCE   SUBJECTIVELY 

IN  TEMPERAMENT,  OBJECTIVELY  IN  TRAINING. 

Connection  between  the  Thought  in  this  and  in  Preceding  Chapters — Sub- 
jective and  Objective  Relationships  of  Expression — Instinctive,  Reflec- 
tive and  Emotive  Sources  of  Mental  Effects — Conscious  Reflective 
and  Investigative  Mental  Action  Slow — Subconscious  Intuitive  and  Im- 
aginative Action  Rapid — The  Two  Actions  do  not  Differ  as  Thought 
and  Feeling,  but  as  Unexcited  and  Voluntary  from  Excited  and  Invol- 
untary Thought — The  Artistic  Involves  Much  Emotion — The  Exciting 
Cause,  being  Permanent  in  Some,  is  Due  to  Temperament — Difference 
between  Scientific  and  Artistic  Temperament  largely  one  of  Degree — 
Some  necessarily  Excluded  from  the  Sphere  of  Art,  Some  Included  in 
it — Effects  of  Education  and  Practice — They  Develop  Mental  through 
Physical  Nature — Even  Develop  Possibilities  of  Genius — Illustrations 
— Connection  between  Results  of  Artistic  Inspiration  and  of  Skill — 
Inspiration,  or  Unhindered  Expression  of  Subconscious  Intellection, 
Helped  by  Cultivation  of  Expression  and  Memory — Even  by  Scientific 
Study — Broad  Culture  not  Injurious  to  the  Esthetic  Possibilities — 
Here  as  elsewhere  Labor  the  Measure  of  Worth — Nothing  Necessary 
in  Religion  or  Science  Fails  to  be  an  Aid  to  Art. 

T  N  the  preceding  six  chapters  we  have  been  considering 
how  far  significance  may  be  attributed  to  subcon- 
scious and  to  conscious  intellection,  and  the  differences  be- 
tween the  conceptions  that  may  be  classed  as  religious, 
scientific,  and  artistic.  We  have  found  the  last  to  be 
imaginative,  ideal,  and  analogically  representative, — con- 
ceptions, therefore,  that  always  tend  to  embodiment,  in 
what  in  art  is  termed  form  (see  page  i).  This  fact  is 

208 


BODILY  INFLUENCE    UPON  ART.  2O$ 

acknowledged  so  universally  that  no  one  thinks  of  object- 
ing to  applying  to  the  higher  arts,  as  is  so  frequently 
done,  the  phrase  "  arts  of  expression,"  which  term  expres- 
sion, as  will  be  recognized,  indicates  always  the  general  re- 
sult when  a  man's  invisible  or  inaudible  thoughts  or 
emotions  are  represented  visibly  or  audibly  in  deeds  or 
tones.  As  thus  understood,  expression  involves  effects 
produced  both  by  the  mind,  which  is  the  source  of  the 
conception  embodied,  and  by  the  body — the  voice,  hands, 
whatever  they  may  be,  that  constitute  the  agencies 
through  which  the  conception  is  made  to  pass  into  form. 
It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  we  shall  not  have  considered 
all  the  sources  to  which  artistic  significance  is  attributable 
until  we  shall  have  noticed  certain  effects  which,  though 
mental,  are  due  nevertheless  to  the  connection  of  the  mind 
with  a  physical  body,  which  body,  too,  must  exert  an  in- 
fluence upon  physical  surroundings, — until  we  shall  have 
noticed,  in  other  words,  effects  which  are  due  to  a  human 
mind  which  must  influence  humanity.  So  far  as  the  mind 
is  human,  the  thoughts  and  emotions  expressed  in  art 
must  be  conditioned  by  certain  physical  considerations 
which  may  be  termed  subjective,  because  due  to  what  the 
human  body  is  in  itself.  So  far  as  this  mind  must  in- 
fluence other  human  beings,  these  thoughts  and  emotions 
must  be  conditioned  by  certain  physical  considerations 
which  may  be  termed  objective,  because  due  to  what  the 
body  is  and  does  when  used  by  the  mind  as  an  object 
through  which  to  produce  outward  effects. 

What  has  been  said  will  sufficiently  explain  the  subdi- 
visions into  subjective  and  objective,  of  each  of  the  more 
general  divisions  of  this  part  of  our  subject  as  treated 
in  this  and  the  two  following  chapters.  These  more  gen- 
eral divisions  themselves  correspond  to  the  three  used 
14 


210      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

when  discussing  the  subject  of  truth  in  Chapters  III.  and 
IV.,  as  also  of  significance  as  attributable  to  mental  action 
in  Chapters  V.  to  XII.,  as  well  as  to  the  three  divisions  of 
this  whole  subject  of  representative  significance,  as  in- 
dicated on  page  271  at  the  opening  of  Chapter  XVI.  The 
present  chapter  will  treat  of  the  sources,  subjective  and 
objective,  so  far  as  they  are  attributable  to  bodily  influ- 
ences, of  artistic  conceptions.  Chapter  XIV.  will  treat  of 
the  character  of  these  conceptions,  and  Chapter  XV.  of 
their  expressional  results.  In  this  chapter,  they  will  be 
traced,  on  their  subjective  side,  to  temperament,  and,  on 
their  objective  side,  to  training. 

On  page  129  it  was  shown  that  imagination,  from  which 
the  conceptions  of  art  as  distinguished  from  those  of  reli- 
gion and  of  science  may  be  said  to  be  primarily  derived, 
involves  a  blending  of  subconscious  and  conscious  mental 
action.  To  determine  the  bearings  of  this  fact  upon  the 
subject  that  we  are  now  to  consider,  we  should  begin  by 
observing  carefully  the  conditions  that  occasion  this  blend- 
ing. What  are  these?  On  pages  233  and  234  of  "Art 
in  Theory,"  it  was  pointed  out  that  when  instinctive  and 
reflective  mental  action,  which,  for  reasons  given  on  page 
93,  may  be  said  to  correspond,  respectively,  to  subconscious 
and  conscious  action, — though  they  are  not  in  every  re- 
gard identical  with  them, — are  blended,  i.  e.,  when  the 
results  of  the  reflective  are  added  to  those  of  the  instinc- 
tive or  of  the  instinctive  to  those  of  the  reflective ;  when, 
therefore,  neither  one  of  these  modes  alone  is  manifested, 
but  both  together, — at  such  times  we  have,  in  the  prod- 
uct, an  illustration  of  what,  in  distinction  from  either  an 
instinctive  or  a  reflective,  we  may  term  an  emotive  effect. 
A  man,  for  instance,  may  eat  and  sleep  like  an  animal,  in- 
stinctively, or  he  may  think  and  talk  reflectively,  without 


THE  EMOTIVE  IN  ART.  211 

giving  any  expression  to  what  we  mean  by  emotion.  But 
as  soon  as  he  thinks  and  talks  in  connection  with  eating  and 
sleeping,  as  is  the  case  with  a  caterer  or  an  upholsterer, 
an  hotel-keeper  or  a  housewife;  or  as  soon  as  his  instincts 
prompt  and  accentuate  his  thinking  and  talking,  as  is  the 
case  with  an  actor  or  a  good  story-teller,  then,  as  a  result 
of  instinct  made  reflective,  or  of  reflection  made  instinc- 
tive, he  begins  to  manifest  his  emotive  nature  ;  and  the 
character  of  his  emotion  is  represented  by  the  degree  in 
which  the  one  or  the  other  of  the  two  tendencies — in- 
stinctive or  reflective — is  in  excess.  It  was  also  pointed 
out  that,  according  to  ordinary  conceptions,  the  power 
which  blends  or  balances  the  instinctive — especially  so  far 
as  this  is  physical — and  the  reflective  or  mental  is  the  soul, 
holding  body  and  mind  together,  influencing  and  influ- 
enced by  both ;  and  also  that,  according  to  ordinary  con- 
ceptions, it  is  the  same  thing  to  put  emotion  into  an 
expression  and  to  put  soul  into  it  ;  neither  being  clearly 
manifested  in  the  expression,  except  as  it  represents  a 
blended  result  both  of  the  instinctive  and  of  the  re- 
flective. 

With  these  suggestions  in  mind,  let  us  recall  now  the 
facts  brought  out  on  page  154,  namely,  that  in  observing 
natural  forms  investigation  is  accustomed  to  follow  the 
instinctive  surmisals  of  imagination,  and  imagination  to 
receive  impetus  from  the  reflective  discoveries  of  inves- 
tigation. What  is  this,  but  to  affirm  that  investigation 
moves  the  more  slowly  of  the  two  ;  that,  in  the  presence 
of  external  appearances,  the  mind  acts  according  to  the  con- 
scious reflective  methods  of  investigation  when  slightly 
moved,  and  acts  according  to  the  subconscious,  instinctive 
methods  of  imagination  when  under  impetus,  i.  e.y  when 
strongly  moved,  or — what  is  involved  in  this — when  strong- 


212      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

ly  influenced  by  emotion  ?  To  confirm  such  an  inference, 
one  need  only  appeal  to  facts.  Is  it  not  because  their  emo- 
tive nature  has  never  been  brought  under  control  or  calmed 
down  by  experience,  because,  therefore,  it  is  the  strongest 
part  of  them,  that  people  in  uncultivated  nations,  and 
children  of  our  own  race,  live,  as  men  say,  in  imagination  ? 
Listen  to  the  little  ones  as  they  watch  the  fireworks  on  a 
Fourth-of-July  night.  With  what  facility  they  recognize 
resemblances  between  sights  new  to  them  and  those  that 
are  familiar.  Roosters,  churches,  fans,  and  fountains, — 
these  are  what  they  see  in  shapes  suggesting  nothing  to 
their  elders.  Yet  when  some  excitement,  strong  enough 
to  appeal  to  these  latter,  has  really  moved  them,  they, 
too,  will  become  unexpectedly  imaginative. 

But  it  must  also  be  noticed  that,  notwithstanding  this 
excitement,  involving  an  unconsciousness  of  the  details  of 
the  mental  operations,  the  mind,  for  reasons  given  on 
page  150,  may  still  act  rationally.  Judging  from  illustra- 
tions such  as  were  instanced  in  the  last  paragraph,  some 
have  thought  that  the  artistic  differs  from  the  scientific 
mood  as  the  mere  results  of  emotion  differ  from  the  re- 
sults of  thought.  This  cannot  be  an  accurate  distinction. 
Thought  in  its  very  essence  is  comparison,  and  therefore 
the  conception  of  some  other  object  with  which  to  com- 
pare the  one  before  the  mind  implies  an  exercise  of 
thought.  In  the  same  way,  a  tendency  directed,  as  in  art, 
toward  finding  some  natural  mode  of  representation  to 
image  an  effect  experienced  by  the  mind,  is  a  result  not  of 
emotion  merely,  though  it  may  be  awakened  by  it ;  but  a 
result  also  of  an  endeavor  to  give  form  to  thought  for 
which  the  mind  happens  to  have  no  form  at  its  command. 
It  is  not  at  the  command  of  the  savage  or  the  child,  simply 
because  no  form  appropriate  has  come,  as  yet,  within  the 


ARTISTIC  EMOTION  INTELLECTUAL.  21$ 

very  limited  range  of  his  experience  or  information.  It  is 
not  at  the  command  of  the  cultivated  man,  because,  to 
his  excited  mood,  all  forms  with  which  he  is  acquainted 
seem,  though  multitudinous,  to  be  inadequate.  Accord- 
ingly the  uncultivated  and  the  cultivated  alike  are  im- 
pelled to  originate  expressions  for  themselves.  And  these 
expressions,  inasmuch  as  they  present  the  movements  of 
the  mind  through  picturing  them  according  to  the  analogy 
of  operations  in  the  material  universe,  are  imaginative  and 
artistic  rather  than  investigative  and  scientific.  Neverthe- 
less they  are  the  results  of  intellection.  As  has  just  been 
said,  thought  in  its  very  essence  is  comparison.  The 
artistic  state  in  which  the  tendency  to  use  comparisons  is 
in  the  intensest  exercise,  may  be  the  state  in  which  there 
is  the  intensest  exercise  of  thought.  What  though  this 
thought  may  be  impelled  by  an  excited  rather  than  by  a 
quiescent  condition  of  emotion  ?  Does  this  change  its 
essential  character  ?  As  a  fact,  do  artists  show  less 
thought  in  what  they  furnish  us  than  do  scientists?  Are 
not  the  spirits  of  the  great  artists,  as  of  the  prophets,  not- 
withstanding all  their  quickness  and  intuitiveness  of  per- 
ception and  expression,  subject  to  their  rational  minds  ? 
Dante  and  Raphael, — were  their  works  inspired  by  an 
absence  of  intellection  ?  Leonardo  and  Goethe, — were 
they  not  well-nigh  as  accurate  in  their  regard  for  the  laws 
of  science  as  of  art  ? 

It  is  evident  that  to  something  else  than  to  that  which 
separates  the  results  of  thought  from  the  results  of  emo- 
tion we  must  refer  the  difference  between  these  methods. 
Why  not  find  it  just  where  we  started,  i.  e.,  in  the  differ- 
ence between  thought  when  impelled  extraordinarily  and 
ordinarily  ? — in  the  fact  that  the  artist  is  unconscious  of 
the  different  phases  through  which  thought  passes  before 


214      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

reaching  its  conclusions,  because  emotion  moves  it  with 
so  much  speed?  This  fact,  indeed,  is  often  very  effec- 
tively represented  in  artistic  results,  especially  in  litera- 
ture, the  words  of  which  are  particularly  fitted  to  reveal 
exactly  what  is  taking  place  in  the  thoughts  to  which  the 
words  give  expression.  Recall  the  ellipses  and  conse- 
quent obscurity  in  which  writers  like  Carlyle  and  Brown- 
ing often  indulge.  See  quotation  on  page  243.  In  almost 
every  instance  where  obscurity  of  this  kind  is  observable, 
some  additional  reflection  would  have  enabled  the  writer 
to  recall  and  to  reveal  the  missing  links  of  thought,  and 
thus  to  give  his  expressions  the  effects  of  logical  precision. 
In  many  cases  we  may  criticise  his  not  doing  this.  But 
had  he  done  it  in  all  cases,  would  the  result  have  been  as 
artistic  as  it  is?  And  if  not,  why  not  ?  Why  but  because, 
thus  expressed,  it  would  have  represented  a  conception  in 
all  of  its  details  clearly  present  to  the  conscious  mind? 
But  art,  as  we  have  found  in  Chapter  V.,  represents  a  con- 
ception of  a  part  of  which  the  mind  is  conscious  and  of  a 
part  of  which,  because  due  to  subconscious  influence,  the 
mind  is  not  conscious.  Thus  this  effect  of  obscurity  so 
often  recognized  as  being  for  some  vague  reason  partic- 
ularly artistic,  is  seen  to  accord  exactly  with  the  require- 
ments of  an  artistic  conception  as  already  described  in 
this  volume.  "  A  skilful  debater,"  says  a  writer  in  the 
"  New  Monthly  Magazine,"  "  never  assigns  too  good  a  rea- 
son for  any  measure  which  he  is  anxious  to  carry.  One 
is  reminded  of  Captain  Absolute's  caution  to  Fog,  when 
that  mendacious  varlet,  or  valet,  declares  a  lie  to  be 
nothing  unless  it  is  backed — on  which  account,  whenever 
he  draws  on  his  invention  for  a  good  current  lie,  he  makes 
a  point  of  forging  endorsements  as  well  as  the  bill. 
1  Take  care  you  don't  hurt  your  credit  by  offering  too 


TEMPERAMENT  IN  ART. 

much  security/  is  the  Captain's  advice.  An  essayist  on 
strong  wills  observes  that  anybody  quite  confident  of  his 
own  line  and  keeping  to  it,  contemptuous  of  opposition, 
serenely  and  stolidly  certain,  is  accepted  as  a  guide  by 
men  worn  out  by  too  wide  an  embrace  of  every  question  ; 
only  he  must  not  be  too  clever,  and  he  must  never  give 
reasons.  For  these  they  can  dispute,  but  to  certainty 
and  will  they  bow  as  to  powers  mysterious  and  divine." 
And  why  mysterious  and  divine?  Why  but  because — 
though  this  is  not  exactly  what  the  writer  meant — they 
suggest  the  results  of  that  subconscious  intellection  which 
connects  the  mind  with  the  mysterious  and  the  divine 
region  to  which  such  influences  are  most  frequently 
attributable  ? 

To  go  back  now  to  the  condition  mentioned  at  the 
opening  of  the  preceding  paragraph,  the  emotion  pos- 
sessed by  the  artist,  it  was  said,  moves  his  thought  with 
so  much  speed  that  he  is  unconscious  of  the  different 
phases  through  which  it  passes  before  reaching  its  con- 
clusions. With  little  emotion,  with  all  the  thoughts 
advancing  at  slow  pace,  the  scientist  is  conscious  of 
almost  every  step.  But  when  circumstances  so  affect  one 
that,  owing  to  some  limit  in  his  means  or  time  for  consid- 
eration, he  must  arrive  at  his  conclusions  in  haste, — cir- 
cumstances realized  in  the  cases  of  all  the  members  of 
a  savage  and  uncultivated  race,  and  of  children  and  of 
older  persons  in  the  presence  of  exciting  causes, — then 
apprehension  overbalances  comprehension,  and  the  mind 
expresses  what  it  would  according  to  the  dictates  of  intu- 
itive judgment  rather  than  of  logical  reasoning.  These 
are  the  conditions,  as  we  have  found,  which  give  birth 
to  art. 

Now,  taking  one  step  farther  backward,  let  us  find  out, 


2l6      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

if  we  can,  the  conditions  which,  in  the  artist,  occasion  the 
emotion  which  .in  turn  occasions  a  manifestation  in  ex- 
pression of  the  results  of  subconscious  mental  action. 
What  gives  rise  to  this  emotion  ?  If  it  were  experienced 
only  now  and  then,  it  might  be  accounted  for  by  circum- 
stances to  which  one  was  accidentally  subjected.  The 
works  of  the  lesser  or  occasional  artists  are  produced  amid 
excitement  which  at  intervals  avails  in  all  to  paralyze 
the  logical  powers  and  to  stimulate  the  analogical.  But 
when,  as  in  the  greater  artists,  such  phases  of  emotion  are 
the  rule  and  not  the  exception  ;  when  they  are  constant, 
when  the  man  by  nature  is  subjected  to  them  and  habit- 
ually views  things  in  an  artistic  light,  and  that,  too,  al- 
though not  greatly  influenced  by  external  causes,  then 
the  experience  must  be  attributed  mainly  to  temperament. 
This  is  a  word  which,  as  will  be  noticed,  does  not  refer 
merely  to  physique,  but  to  a  certain  kind  of  mental  action 
which  naturally  accompanies  a  certain  kind  of  physique. 
A  blending  of  effects,  some  of  which  are  physical,  as  in 
instinctive  action,  and  some  of  which  are  mental,  as  in 
reflective  action,  was  said  on  page  210  to  underlie  emo- 
tive action.  But  the  proportions  of  this  blending  are 
what  determine  the  different  kinds  of  temperament.  It 
must  be  temperament,  therefore,  that  determines  the 
characteristic  emotive  condition.  It  is  important  to  notice, 
too,  that  this  blending  manifested  in  temperament  has  not 
at  all  the  same  result  as  the  exclusively  physical  qualities 
tending,  when  not  blended  with  intellection,  to  passion  and 
sensuality.  If  this  fact  were  recognized,  not  so  many  of 
our  critics  would  express  conceptions  about  artists  which 
are  on  a  par  with  those  which  presuppose  all  religionists 
to  be  too  ascetic  ranters  or  too  aesthetic  ritualists.  Sus- 
ceptibility to  intellectual  and  spiritual  excitation  very  often 


TEMPERAMENT  IN  ART. 

entirely  supplants  that  which  responds  to  the  merely 
physical  appeal;  whereas  susceptibility  responding  only  or 
mainly  to  the  latter  frequently  causes  practical  grossness 
and  actual  indulgence  to  deaden  entirely  the  artistic  pos- 
sibilities. It  is  true,  of  course,  that  a  man  characterized 
by  what  may  be  termed  an  excess  of  force  in  one  depart- 
ment is  apt  to  be  characterized  by  the  same  in  another 
department ;  that  one  who  has  force  of  mind  is  apt  to 
have  force  of  body  also.  But  this. is  no  more  true  than 
that  one  who  has  force  of  mind  is  apt  by  means  of  it  to 
subordinate  the  body,  and  thus  to  cause  the  two  to  work 
together  to  the  advantage  of  both.  To  return,  however, 
to  the  main  thought  in  this  paragraph,  the  story  of  Pyg- 
malion who  fell  in  love  with  his  own  statue  of  Galatea  is 
merely  an  artistic  embodiment  of  the  conception  of  the 
naturally  emotive  susceptibility  of  the  true  artist.  It  is 
doubtful  if  one  of  these  ever  lived  who  lacked  the  ten- 
dency developed  in  the  tale.  It  is  doubtful  if  one  without 
the  capacity  for  falling  thoroughly  in  love  with  his  own 
product  could  ever  be  an  artist.  God  made  men,  as  we 
are  told,  in  His  own  image,  and  the  highest  manliness 
results  when  His  spirit  becomes  incarnated  in  them.  So 
the  artist  forms  art  in  his  own  image ;  his  works  reflect  his 
thought  or  feeling;  and  the  highest  excellence  follows 
only  in  the  degree  in  which  his  soul  has  found  complete 
embodiment  in  them. 

If  what  has  been  said  be  true — and  who  can  deny  it  ? — 
we  have  reached  at  last  an  ultimate  fact  beyond  which 
analysis  cannot  go.  It  is  the  ground  on  which  was  based 
that  old  expression  :  "  The  poet  is  born  and  not  made." 
Lest,  however,  we  exaggerate  the  differences  between  men 
as  thus  suggested,  let  us  try  to  ascertain  precisely  what 
that  temperament  is  which  may  be  rightly  termed  artistic. 


218      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

From  what  has  been  said  already,  we  must  infer  that,  pri- 
marily, it  is  one  that  is  quick  in  apprehending  effects  of 
nature  in  both  their  isolations  and  relations,  as  also  in 
making  comparisons  between  these  effects,  and  in  drawing 
surmisals  from  them.  All  children,  because  their  brains 
are  active,  are  artistic  in  their  tendencies.  The  very 
essence  of  artistic  imitation  is  mimicry  ;  and  what  child  is 
entirely  destitute  of  this  ?  Very  nearly  all  the  young  pass 
through  a  dramatic  age,  in  which  they  flower  into  poetry  ; 
and  whether  the  blossoms  soon  fade  or  bloom  perennially 
depends  mainly  upon  the  permanence  within  them  of  the 
characteristics  thus  manifested.  When  men  arrive  at 
maturity,  the  artistic  mind,  as  distinguished  from  the 
scientific,  continues  to  form  theories  before  it  reasons 
them  out,  and  to  imagine  truth  before  it  investigates.  If 
one  naturally  of  an  artistic  temperament  ever  does  reach 
results  that  are  scientific,  this  term  "  scientific  "  cannot  be 
applied  to  the  movements  of  his  mind  preparatory  to 
these.  Instead  of  advancing  step  by  step  toward  his  end, 
he  first  jumps  to  his  conclusions,  and  then  turns  backward 
to  discover  the  intervening  steps.  Very  difficult,  too,  as 
a  rule,  is  his  task  in  bringing  these  to  the  light.  Through 
the  mist-hung  marshes  which  the  wings  of  his  imagination 
have  borne  him  across,  he  must  flounder  on  foot,  picking 
his  pathway  painfully  until  he  reach  his  starting-point. 
Yet  if  he  do  not  do  this,  his  own  explanations  of  what  he 
has  accomplished  will  be  more  apt  to  entitle  him  to  rank 
as  a  visionary  among  idealists  than  as  a  guide  among 
practical  thinkers.  Notice,  nevertheless,  that  the  method 
of  mental  action  just  described  is  that  which  is  most  al- 
lied to  the  method  which  the  world  usually  attributes  to 
genius.  A  genius  perceives  a  specific  effect  in  nature, 
and  surmises  thence  a  truth  or  principle  which  is  generic 


TEMPERAMENT  OF  GENIUS.  21$ 

(see  Chapter  III).  Newton  is  said  to  have  surmised  the 
law  of  gravitation  from  the  sight  of  a  single  apple  falling 
from  a  tree,  and  almost  every  one  who  has  invented  any 
kind  of  a  machine  has  conceived  of  it  as  a  whole  before 
he  has  tried  to  construct  its  separate  parts.  As  every- 
where else,  therefore,  the  difference  indicated  here  between 
the  artistic  and  the  scientific  mind  is  one  of  degree  and  not 
of  kind.  The  artist  works  almost  exclusively  according 
to  the  method  just  indicated,  so  the  world  supposes  that 
he  must  be  a  genius  necessarily.  The  scientific  man  has 
very  much  to  do  besides  surmising  and  inventing;  so  the 
world  confines  the  title  genius  to  the  few  scientific  minds 
pre-eminent  in  doing  these  latter. 

However,  though  the  difference  between  the  actions  of 
the  artistic  and  of  the  scientific  minds  is  one  of  degree,  in 
the  extreme  developments  of  the  two  it  virtually  becomes 
one  of  kind.  All  men  have  emotion.  All  may  be  strongly 
moved,  and,  in  such  circumstances,  the  minds  of  all  may 
be  subject  to  that  subconscious  action  which  is  one  source 
of  imagination.  But  when  we  try  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion,— To  what  extent  may  one  as  compared  with  another 
be  subject  to  this?  we  find  the  difference  between  men 
almost  world-wide.  We  must  conclude,  therefore,  that 
large  numbers  are  by  nature  excluded  from  the  sphere  of 
action  of  the  artist.  They  are  too  cautious,  too  much 
under  the  control  of  consciousness,  or,  as  we  say,  self- 
consciousness,  to  give  themselves  up  to  the  abandon  of 
subconscious  mental  activity.  It  is  not  only  great  ora- 
tors who  lose  themselves  in  their  subjects  before  they  be- 
come eloquent.  Sculptors,  painters,  and  musicians  have  a 
similar  experience.  "  If  you  think  how  you  are  to  write," 
said  Mozart,  "  you  will  never  write  anything  worth  hear- 
ing. I  write  because  I  cannot  help  it."  Viewed  in  this 


220      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

light,  we  may  trace  to  the  power  that  Shakespeare  and 
Goethe  had  of  objectifying  and  so  of  forgetting  them- 
selves, not  only  the  effects  but  the  causes  also  of  their 
greatness.  It  might  be  almost  said  that  faith  in  the  re- 
sults of  that  which  is  beyond  the  sphere  of  consciousness 
enables  one  to  reach  the  aesthetic  paradise  no  less  than 
the  heavenly.  Especially  in  these  intensely  practical 
times  of  factories  and  furnaces,  what  but  the  ability  to 
preserve  one's  relationship  with  something  hidden,  with 
some  ideal  that  cannot  be  smelt  or  touched,  with  some- 
thing real  though  in  realms  of  mystery, — what  but  this 
can  keep  the  soul  in  a  region  where  results  of  art  are 
possible  ?  And  if  some  by  nature  be  excluded  from  the 
sphere  of  action  of  the  artist,  it  must  be  equally  true 
that  some  by  nature  are  included  in  it.  And,  now  and 
then,  their  products  may  evince  this  fact.  From  the 
realm  of  their  nativity  they  can  be  banished  wholly 
neither  by  the  deadening  effects  of  practical  life,  nor  by 
the  lack  of  the  quickening  influences  of  aesthetic  education. 
At  the  same  time  it  is  easy  for  us  to  exaggerate  unduly 
these  natural  differences  between  men.  It  is  easy  for  us 
to  suppose  that  we  have  discovered  them  when  we  have 
discovered  nothing.  Very  often,  that  for  which  we  are  in 
search,  though  latently  present,  has  merely  not  been 
brought  to  the  light.  It  is  easy  for  us,  therefore,  to  ignore 
the  methods  through  which  whatever  artistic  possibilities 
one  may  possess  may  be  cultivated.  This  thought  sug- 
gests the  other  subject  to  be  treated  in  this  chapter, 
namely,  artistic  significance  as  traceable,  objectively,  to 
training.  In  order  to  unfold  this  subject  logically,  it  will 
be  best  to  start  with  a  conception  of  the  influence  upon 
mental  action  of  education  in  general.  From  this  con- 
ception the  transition  will  be  easy  to  that  of  the  particular 


PRACTICE  NECESSARY    TO  ART.  221 

effect  upon  education  produced  by  training.  The  word 
education  is  composed  of  the  two  Latin  words,  e,  meaning 
from  or  out  of,  and  ducere,  meaning  to  lead.  But  why  should 
to  educate  mean  to  lead  from  or  out  off  Is  it  possible  to 
ask  this  question  without  having  suggested  what  was  said 
on  page  66?  It  was  there  noticed  that  all  that  we  con- 
sciously experience  through  the  agency  either  of  the 
physical  senses  or  of  psychological  intellection  passes  into 
the  mind's  regions  of  subconsciousness.  Here,  though 
much  appears  to  be  lost,  probably  nothing  actually  is 
lost ;  it  always  remains.  This  seems  to  be  abundantly 
proved  by  the  results  of  abnormal  excitation,  as  in  fright, 
fever,  hypnotism,  and  in  well  authenticated  cases  of  what 
are  termed  trance-conditions.  It  seems  to  be  proved,  too, 
that  the  recollective,  illustrative,  and  argumentative  pow- 
ers of  the  subconscious  mind,  as  related  to  any  given  pre- 
mise, which  premise,  as  stated  on  page  106,  may  or  may 
not  be  trustworthy,  works  with  flawless  precision.  If  this 
be  so,  the  problem  of  education  has  to  do  not  with  the 
methods  of  obtaining  information  from  without,  so  much 
as  of  bringing  back  to  consciousness  information  already 
stored  within,  so  as  to  be  able  to  use  it  for  oneself  and 
for  others.  The  mind  that  is  best  able  to  bring  this  back 
to  consciousness  at  the  right  times  and  places,  is  the  best 
educated. 

Now  on  what  does  the  ability  of  the  mind  to  do  this  de- 
pend ?  There  is  reason  to  suppose  that  it  depends  largely 
upon  the  quality  and  comparative  strength  of  the  physical 
brain  through  which  one  does  his  work.  It  is  said  that 
the  brains  of  Daniel  Webster  and  of  Amos  Lawrence, 
a  successful  merchant  of  Boston,  both  of  whom  died 
about  the  same  time,  were  compared,  and  were  found 
to  be  of  very  nearly  the  same  size  and  weight,  but  the 


222      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

convolutions  in  the  brain  of  Webster  were  found  to  be  more 
numerous.  That  is  to  say,  his  brain  was  of  finer  physical 
fibre.  Some  brains  are  apparently  of  such  coarse  fibre 
that  almost  everything  that  passes  toward  the  depth  of 
subconsciousness  goes  through  them  as  through  a  sieve. 
They  hold  and  keep  conscious  control  of  very  little. 
That  the  ability  of  the  mind  depends  upon  the  physical 
strength  of  the  brain,  may  be  shown  in  another  way. 
Give  a  small  child  a  message  to  deliver,  and  he  will  bring 
it  up  to  consciousness  with  difficulty,  hesitating  between 
almost  every  word.  "  My  mother — wishes — wishes — me 
to — to — my  mother  wishes  me  to — present — to  present — 
her  compliments — her  compliments  to  you — and  to  say,'* 
etc.  But  the  same  child  after  a  year  or  two,  when 
older  and  stronger  physically,  will  experience  little  of  this 
difficulty,  and,  after  attaining  manhood,  none  whatever, 
even  though  the  communication  to  be  recalled  be  a  thou- 
sand times  more  complex.  Yet  wait  again  a  few  years, 
and  the  same  man,  when  approaching  the  period  of  sec- 
ond childhood,  merely  because  of  the  weakening  of  the 
physical  powers,  will  again  experience  difficulty,  even 
when  the  message  is  extremely  simple.  To  a  few  it  may 
seem  humiliating  to  be  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  the 
intellectual  superiority  in  which  some  of  us  pride  our- 
selves may  be  determined  at  all  by  conditions  having 
to  do  merely  with  physique  ;  but  as  long  as  we  remain 
men,  such  must  be  the  case. 

It  is  not,  however,  merely  the  passage  of  time  and  its 
influence  upon  growth  that  in  youth  can  strengthen  and 
in  old  age  can  weaken  our  physical  powers.  The  same 
effects  may  be  produced  by  training,  especially  by  that 
form  of  it  which  we  give  to  ourselves  through  practice. 
We  know  this  to  be  true  as  applied  to  our  hands  and 


PRACTICE  AS  DEVELOPING   GENIUS,  22$ 

voices.  Why  should  it  not  be  true  as  applied  to  our 
brains?  But  notice  that  if  it  be  true  as  applied  to  these, 
and,  if  all  that  was  said  in  the  last  paragraph  be  also  truer 
then  training  can  do  much  more  for  artistic  development 
than  some  suppose.  It  can  produce  facility  not  only 
in  outward  expression,  giving  the  singer,  orator,  or  actor  a 
flexible  voice  or  a  graceful  body,  or  the  musician,  painterr 
or  sculptor  dexterity  in  the  use  of  fingers,  brush,  or  chisel. 
It  can  produce  facility  in  the  methods  of  inward  prepara- 
tion for  expression,  enabling  the  mind  to  draw  at  will 
from  the  subconscious  resources  that  which  is  the  subject- 
matter  of  artistic  invention  and  inspiration. 

It  is  true,  of  course,  that  no  amount  of  practice  can 
enable  some  to  become  artists,  and  that,  in  exceptional 
cases  or  upon  extraordinary  occasions,  some  may  produce 
genuine  works  of  art  who  have  practised  little  ;  but,  as  a 
rule,  practice  is  indispensable  if  one  wish  to  attain  the 
characteristics  supposed  to  be  possessed  habitually  by  the 
great  artists.  We  find  this  fact  illustrated  almost  uni- 
versally. Of  course,  there  are  a  few  exceptional  cases 
like  that  of  Mozart,  mentioned  on  page  73.  He  was  giv- 
ing concerts  when  he  was  three  years  old,  and  had  com- 
posed an  overture  for  an  entire  orchestra  when  he  was  eight. 
For  him,  notwithstanding  the  instruction  that  he  received 
when  he  was  older,  practice  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
absolutely  indispensable.  And  it  was  not  so,  say  some,, 
because  he  was  a  genius.  But  let  us  think  a  moment. 
Might  he  not  have  been  a  genius,  and  also  have  been  obliged 
to  cultivate  his  powers?  Was  not  Beethoven  a  genius? 
Yet  when  he  was  three  years  old  he  knew  nothing,  so  far 
as  we  are  aware,  of  music ;  and  very  little  when  he  was 
eight.  But  after  he  had  practised  many  hours  a  day 
for  ten  or  fifteen  years,  he  could  do  as  well  as  Mozart 


224      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

could  in  early  manhood  ;  and,  not  only  so,  but  a  few  years 
later  he  could  do  better  than  Mozart  ever  could.  Not  a 
few  to-day  consider  Beethoven  the  greater  genius  of  the 
two.  Yet  the  genius  of  the  one  owed  comparatively  little, 
as  some  would  say  almost  nothing,  to  practice,  while  that 
of  the  other,  but  for  it,  might  never  have  been  revealed 
at  all. 

Exactly  what  was  it  that  practice  had  thus  done  for 
Beethoven  ?  Had  it  imparted  to  him  merely  information 
concerning  the  methods  of  fingering  the  keys  of  instru- 
ments so  as  to  prevent  interference  and  secure  facility,  or 
concerning  the  methods  of  printing  music,  and  of  arrang- 
ing notes,  one  after  another  or  together,  so  as  to  produce 
effects  of  melody  or  harmony  ?  More  than  this,  certainly. 
He  could  have  learned  all  these  things  without  practice, 
and  after  having  learned  them,  if  he  had  done  no  more, 
they  never  could  have  made  him  an  artist.  What  prac- 
tice had  done  was  this  :  it  had  given  his  fingers  muscular 
flexibility,  enabling  them  to  sound  upon  an  instrument 
whatever  notes  a  composition  demanded.  But  besides 
this,  practice  had  given  the  brain  controlling  his  fingers 
what  also  we  might  term  flexibility ;  and  it  had  given 
the  mind,  too,  lodged  in  his  brain,  a  mental  habit  of  using 
the  right  fingers  in  the  right  places,  and  all  the  fingers 
in  the  right  orders  of  succession.  Beyond  this,  it  had 
enabled  his  mind  to  comprehend  in  a  single  glance  large 
groups  of  notes  on  a  printed  staff  and,  no  matter  how 
numerous  and  complex,  to  send  his  knowledge  of  them 
through  the  nerves,  and  transfer  them  to  sound  with 
precision  and  yet  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning.  More- 
over, all  this,  which,  when  he  began,  had  involved 
the  slow  and  painful  process  of  consciously  thinking  of 
each  note  on  a  printed  staff,  and  of  each  corresponding 


PRACTICE   AS  INFLUENCING  EXPRESSION,         22$ 

key  on  an  instrument,  practice  had  enabled  him  to  do  at 
last  unconsciously  at  the  same  time  that  all  his  conscious 
powers  were  employed  in  giving  expression  to  the  general 
effect. 

Now  what  is  true  of  music  is  true  of  every  art.  There 
was  Demosthenes.  We  all  know  that,  when  he  first 
ventured  before  an  audience,  his  stammering  articula- 
tion, interrupted  respiration,  ungraceful  gestures,  and  ill- 
arranged  periods  brought  upon  him  general  ridicule. 
What  was  it  necessary  for  him  to  do  in  order  to  speak 
artistically  ?  To  think,  every  time  that  he  came  before 
the  public,  of  his  articulation,  respiration,  gestures,  and 
periods  ?  Had  he  pursued  this  course,  he  never  could 
have  waxed  eloquent,  because  he  never  could  have  en- 
tered into  his  theme  with  unconscious  abandon.  What 
he  did,  was  to  withdraw  altogether  from  the  public  until, 
by  a  course  of  persistent  practice,  he  had  cultivated 
habits  of  clear  articulation,  regular  respiration,  graceful 
gesturing,  and  rhetorical  phraseology.  Only  after  he  had 
acquired  these  traits  could  he  exhibit  them  as  the  per- 
fect results  of  art,  yet  as  the  instinctive  and  unconscious 
expression  of  the  free  play  of  his  thought.  Nor  must 
it  be  supposed  that  the  results  in  his  case,  or  in  that 
of  any  other  man  practising  similarly,  were  confined, 
or  could  be  confined,  to  such  as  can  be  manifested 
merely  in  external  style  or  form.  Practice  reaches  the 
whole  range  of  artistic  possibilities.  A  boy,  in  learning 
to  read  or  to  compose  in  writing,  is  conscious  of  every 
letter,  syllable,  epithet,  phrase,  or  metaphor,  but,  after 
sufficient  practice,  he  can  not  only  peruse  but  produce 
all  these  in  line  after  line  and  page  after  page,  with 
absolute  unconsciousness  of  details,  or  even  of  effort. 

Many  find  the  strongest  indication  of  what  they  term  the 

15 


226      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

inspired  genius  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher  in  his  marvellous 
illustrative  ability,  in  his  imaginative  facility  in  arguing 
from  analogy.  He  himself,  in  his  "Yale  Lectures,"  says 
that  not  only  did  he  practise  elocution  "incessantly  for 
three  years,"  but  that,  while  in  later  life  it  was  as  easy 
for  him  to  illustrate  as  to  breathe,  he  did  not  have 
this  power  to  any  such  extent  in  his  early  manhood, 
but  cultivated  it. 

The  truth  is  that  everybody  has  within  himself  these 
subconscious  powers  of  mind,  which  operate  of  them- 
selves, like  an  automatic  machine,  as  we  may  say,  pro- 
ducing approximately  perfect  results  of  recollection, 
illustration,  and — as  developed  from  the  premise  sub- 
mitted—  of  logic.  The  problem  of  education  is  how 
to  cultivate  the  conscious  powers  so  that  they  shall 
become  pliant  to  the  touch  of  subconscious  influence; 
and  thus  be  enabled  to  manifest  its  effects.  The  prob- 
lem of  expressional  art  is  how  to  cultivate  the  conscious 
agencies  of  expression  so  that  they  shall  respond  with- 
out interference  to  the  promptings  of  the  subconscious 
agencies.  The  musician  has  always  practically  solved 
this  problem  when  he  is  pouring  his  whole  soul  into 
his  music,  unconscious  of  anything  but  the  emotional 
effect  that  he  desires  to  produce  upon  the  souls  of  his 
hearers.  The  sculptor  and  the  painter  have  always 
solved  it  when  they  are  projecting  into  line  or  color, 
unconscious  of  being  hampered  by  any  thought  of  tech- 
nique, that  image  which  keen  observation  of  the  outer 
world  has  impressed  upon  their  conceptions.  The  poet 
has  always  solved  it  when  he  has  lost  himself  in  his 
theme,  unconscious  of  anything  except  that  to  which 
Milton  refers  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  ix.,  when  he  says  that 
it 


EFFECT  UPON  ART  OF  MEMORY.  22/ 

— dictates  to  me  slumbering,  or  inspires 
Easy  my  unpremeditated  verse. 

But,  now,  this  method,  of  which  we  remain  unconscious, 
through  which  thoughts  and  emotions  pass  from  the 
subconscious  mind  through  the  conscious  mind,  and  out 
of  it  again  into  the  details  of  form,  is  the  result  of  what 
most  men  mean  when  they  use  the  term  artistic  inspira- 
tion. Yet  notice  that  it  is  often,  too,  even  in  cases  of  the 
most  indisputable  genius,  a  result,  in  part  at  least,  of 
skill  acquired  \sy  practice. 

This  is  a  fact  which  justifies  many  opinions  which  at 
first  thought  seem  inconsistent,  if  not  illogical ;  as  for 
instance,  those  of  the  "  spiritualists  "  and  Quakers  to  the 
effect  that  their  "  inspirational  "  speakers  preach  better 
after  they  have  become  accustomed  to  preaching.  To 
admit  the  truth  of  this  opinion  is  not  to  admit  that  all 
could  become  accustomed  to  it.  By  temperament  many 
are  constitutionally  unqualified  to  give  any  utterance  to 
instinctive  promptings,  to  throw  themselves  with  abandon 
into  anything  ;  but,  granted  this  power,  it  is  often  the 
accuracy,  breadth,  and  largeness  of  the  cultivation  re- 
ceived that  determine  the  truth,  comprehensiveness,  and 
greatness  of  the  result.  A  wholly  uncultivated  man  may 
produce  a  perfect  stanza  or  sketch  ;  but  usually  not  a 
long  poem  or  a  painting. 

The  truth  seems  to  be  that,  although  there  is  the  wide 
separation  between  the  conscious  and  the  subconscious 
powers  that  has  been  indicated  in  this  volume,  the  mind 
as  a  whole  is  one,  and  almost  any  method  of  cultivating 
one  part  of  it  involves  cultivating  other  parts.  What  forms 
of  mental  action  can  seem  more  widely  separated  than 
those  of  memory  and  of  imagination  ?  Who  does  not  rec- 
ognize the  point  in  Sheridan's  remark  about  an  opponent 


228      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM, 

—Fox,  was  it  not  ? — that  he  relied  upon  his  memory  for 
his  wit,  and  upon  his  imagination  for  his  facts  ?  And 
yet  there  is  some  truth  in  what  E.  S.  Dallas  says  in  "  The 
Gay  Science,"  that  "  it  is  not  so  much  to  a  trained  inven- 
tion as  to  a  trained  memory  that  the  poet  who  seeks  for 
variety  must  chiefly  trust ;  and  it  will  be  found  that  all 
great  poets,  all  great  artists,  all  great  inventors,  are  men 
of  great  memory — their  unconscious  memory  being  even 
greater  than  that  of  which  they  are  conscious.  These 
unconscious  memories,  stirring  we  know  not  what  within 
us,  fill  some  men  with  a  sense  of  the  mystery  of  life, 
and  shed  on  all  things  visible  the  hues  of  poetry, — that 
1  light '  which,  according  to  Wordsworth,  '  never  was  on 
sea  or  land.'  Other  men  they  enrich  with  visions  of 
what  they  fancy  they  have  never  seen.  In  a  moment,  at 
a  single  jet,  the  picture  is  in  the  mind's  eye,  complete  to 
a  pin's  head,  with  all  the  perfectness  of  imaginative  work. 
One  blow,  one  flash,  is  all  we  are  conscious  of ;  no  fum- 
bling, no  patching  up,  no  retouching ;  we  are  unconscious 
of  the  automatic  energy  within  us  until  its  work  is 
achieved,  and  the  effect  is  not  to  be  resisted.  We  have 
the  finished  result ;  of  the  process  we  know  nothing.  We 
enjoy  the  one  and  we  stand  in  awe  of  the  other.  We 
endow  these  extraordinary  memories  with  divine  honors. 
'  Ye  are  as  gods,'  we  say  to  the  poets.  And  thus  far,  at 
least,  we  can  see  a  deeper  wisdom  in  the  doctrine  of  the 
Greeks  that  the  Muses  were  all  daughters  of  Mnemosyne." 
What  is  thus  suggested  by  Mr.  Dallas  with  reference 
to  the  influence  of  the  cultivation  of  memory  upon 
imaginative  results,  or — what  is  the  same  thing — upon 
the  analogical  significance  which  an  artist  is  enabled  to  em- 
body or  express  in  his  works,  might  be  affirmed  in  prin- 
ciple of  the  cultivation  of  almost  any  other  of  the  mental 


ART  AND    GENERAL    CULTURE.  22Q 

powers.  Take,  for  instance,  the  discipline  derived  from 
the  practice  of  the  scientific  method  of  investigation. 
Not  only  need  this  involve  no  injury  to  the  powers  of 
imagination — it  may  often  be  of  great  help  to  them.  So 
effective  is  it  in  enabling  a  man  to  bring  the  results  of 
subconscious  intellection  into  consciousness  as  in  some 
instances  to  create  almost  a  new  sense.  Sailors  do  not 
always  need  to  study  their  charts  in  order  to  avoid  the 
shoals  about  them  ;  nor  foresters  the  direction  of  the  sun 
or  compass  in  order  to  find  their  pathways  home.  With 
more  accuracy  of  meaning  than  some  of  us  think  possi- 
ble, deaf  men  sometimes  talk  of  hearing,  and  blind  men  of 
seeing.  Some  years  since,  Dr.  Chadbourne,  afterwards 
president  of  Williams  College,  with  some  others,  was  lost 
in  a  fog  at  sundown  on  a  spur  of  Greylock  Mountain  in 
Massachusetts.  In  that  condition,  by  a  mere  accident, 
he  brushed  his  hand  against  what  seemed  to  the  others 
but  an  ordinary  bush,  yet  it  was  really  the  only  specimen 
of  the  kind  in  the  neighborhood  ;  and  instantly  he  told 
the  party  where  they  were.  In  all  such  cases,  sight,  hear- 
ing, and  touch  act  intuitively  as  a  result,  not  of  nature, 
but  of  practice,  and  of  practice,  too,  in  scientific  pursuits. 
In  fulfilment  of  the  same  principle,  a  general  on  a  battle- 
field is  enabled  to  detect  at  a  glance  the  key  of  a  position. 
He  does  so  in  part,  of  course,  on  account  of  that  natural 
aptitude  of  mind  which  we  attribute  to  genius, — by  an 
exercise  of  ability  precisely  akin  to  that  of  the  artist 
when  he  selects  the  viewpoint  of  a  picture,  or  of  a  poet 
when  he  chooses  the  formative  idea  of  a  lyric.  Yet,  for 
all  this,  neither  general,  nor  artist,  nor  poet  can,  as  a 
rule,  reach  the  most  desirable  conclusions,  formed  though 
they  may  be  instinctively,  save  as  a  result  of  experience 
derived  from  previous  practice. 


230      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

Accordingly  we  see  how,  even  when  there  is  no  inten- 
tion of  developing  the  kind  of  mental  action  dependent 
upon  the  subconscious  powers,  the  development  of  this  is 
associated  necessarily  with  that  dependent  upon  the  con- 
scious powers.  There  is  less  danger,  therefore,  than  is 
sometimes  supposed,  that  scientific  pursuits  will  diminish 
the  facility  of  one's  imagination.  There  is  always  a  pos- 
sibility, of  course,  that  a  single  mode  of  thinking,  if  pur- 
sued exclusively,  will  predominate  in  the  mind  ;  but  if 
two  modes  be  pursued  together,  and  especially  if  one  be 
pursued  for  the  direct  purpose  of  giving  efficiency  to  the 
other,  this  aim  will  cause  both  to  be  kept  in  use,  and 
counterbalance  the  possibility.  As  a  fact,  we  find  few  in- 
stances in  history  in  which  a  liberal  education,  properly 
subordinated,  has  proved  an  injury  to  the  aesthetic  nature. 
Milton  wrote  little  poetry  until  he  had  finished  his  polit- 
ical work.  Goethe  and  Schiller  both  profited  much  from 
the  discriminating  scientific  criticism  to  which,  as  appears 
in  their  correspondence,  they  were  accustomed  to  submit 
their  productions ;  at  all  events,  they  achieved  their 
greatest  successes  subsequent  to  it.  And  with  criticism 
playing  all  about  his  horizon,  like  lightnings  from  every 
quarter  of  the  heavens,  who  shall  calculate  how  much  of 
the  splendor  of  Shakespeare  is  attributable  to  this  by- 
play among  the  circle  of  dramatists  by  whom  he  was 
surrounded  ?  With  new  forms  rising  still  like  other 
Venuses  above  the  miasmas  of  the  old  Campagna,  who 
shall  estimate  how  much  the  excellence  of  the  Italian 
artists  has  been  owing  to  the  opportunities  afforded  in 
historic  Rome  for  critical  study  ? 

Enough,  at  all  events,  we  know,  to  conclude  that  the 
results  of  art  have  not  disproved  that  universal  princi- 
ple according  to  which  the  degree  of  labor,  mediate  or 


ART  AND   GENERAL    CULTURE.  2$  I 

immediate,  generally  measures  the  degree  of  worth.  A 
bountiful  exuberance  of  imagination  usually  accompanies 
abounding  information.  The  analogies  of  art  are  usually 
most  natural  to  the  mood  that  meditates  most  upon 
nature.  Truth,  comprehensiveness,  and  greatness,  mani- 
fested in  artistic  products,  are  usually  crystallizations  of 
the  accuracy,  breadth,  and  largeness  of  the  formative 
thought  occasioning  them. 

It  would  be  difficult,  in  fact,  to  discover  a  single  element 
necessary  to  success  in  religious  or  scientific  endeavor 
which,  if  held  in  due  subordination,  is  really  not  available 
in  the  realm  of  art.  Religion  is  an  aid  to  it  because,  to 
interpret  the  truth  of  nature  in  all  its  depth  and  breadth 
of  pureness  and  of  charity,  one  must  have  a  spirit  capable 
of  being  often  drawn  into  sympathy  with  that  which  is 
purest  and  best  in  nature.  Such  a  spirit  has  been  pos- 
sessed by  all  the  greatest  artists:  by  men  like  Raphael, 
Angelo,  Beethoven,  Mendelssohn,  Shakespeare,  Dickens, 
Dante,  Schiller,  Goethe.  Do  not  deem  the  latter  an  excep- 
tion. As  Jean  Paul  Richter  says  of  him,  "  He  is  a  healthy 
nature.  The  moral  compass  is  firm  in  him.  The  needle 
may  waver,  but  it  returns  to  its  place  again."  And  to  a 
thinking  man  it  must  appear  in  the  highest  sense  neces- 
sary that  with  any  pre-eminent  artist  the  first  condition 
of  success  should  be  the  fact  that  his  own  spirit,  especially 
in  those  involuntary  moods  which  we  have  found  to  be 
the  fountains  of  artistic  inspiration,  should  be  in  sympa- 
thy with  the  Creative  life, — with  the  Spirit  behind  the 
material  universe.  And  science,  too,  is  an  aid  to  art ;  and 
in  the  same  category  with  science  we  must  place  all  those 
phases  of  life  which  are  appropriate  subjects  of  investiga- 
tion, everything  that  can  enlighten  man  with  reference  to 
the  laws  of  nature  or  of  mind,  or  to  the  histories  of  either, 


232      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

so  that  one's  surmisals  of  the  truth  suggested  shall  be  ac- 
curate and  trustworthy.  Indeed,  the  resources  that  may 
be  utilized  in  art  are  practically  infinite.  No  man  can 
observe  so  much  as  to  see  any  facts  outside  the  limits  of 
its  sphere.  No  man  can  reflect  so  much  as  to  arrive  at 
any  conclusions  beyond  its  powers  of  expression.  No  man 
can  be  so  much  as  not  to  have  mind  and  spirit  lifted  to 
greater  heights  through  its  inspiration. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

ARTISTIC    SIGNIFICANCE    AS    ATTRIBUTABLE   TO   BODILY 
ACTION,  AND  CHARACTERIZED  SUBJECTIVELY  BY  A  PER- 
SONAL EFFECT,  OBJECTIVELY  BY  A  SYMPATHETIC. 

Connection  between  the  Thought  in  this  and  the  Preceding  Chapter — The 
Surmisals  of  Art  those  of  One  Individual,  the  Artist — Should  Have  a 
Personal  Effect — A  Prose  Description  that  Lacks  this :  Scott — A 
Poetic  :  Crabbe— A  Poetic  that  Exhibits  it :  Byron — A  Prose  :  Dickens 
— The  Latter  Descriptions  Show  the  Effects  of  an  Intervening  Human 
Mind — As  Personality  is  most  Apparent  in  Unconscious  Action,  to 
Represent  these  Effects  does  not  Interfere  with  consciously  Represent- 
ing Nature — The  Personality  of  Artistic  Effects  is  Recognized  in  the 
Universal  Proneness  to  Attribute  to  Artistic  Genius  Originality  and 
Eccentricity — Personality  of  Effect  always  Appeals  to  Others  through 
Awakening  Sympathy  for  or  against — So  the  Arts  are  the  Humanities 
— Illustrations  of  Artistic  Appeal  to  the  Sympathies — Explanation  of  the 
Passages — The  Principle  Involved — Why  Artists  Seem  often  Interested 
in  Technique  rather  than  in  Significance — Individuality  of  Effect  not 
Inconsistent  with  an  Appeal  to  Universal  Interest — Yet  the  Artist 
must  Have  a  Peculiar  Temperament  to  Fulfil  both  Requirements — 
Genius  Has  a  Temperament  Congenial  to  Nature  and  Man — German 
Words  Corresponding  to  Genius,  Genial,  and  Geniality — Brilliancy 
— Art  Humanizes  Nature  according  to  the  Sentiments  of  One,  yet 
Accords  with  the  Sentiments  of  All. 

A  S  a  result  of  the  second  of  the  questions  discussed  in 
•^^  Chapters  VII.  to  XII.,  the  conclusion  was  reached 
that,  so  far  as  attributable  to  mental  action,  the  concep- 
tions of  art,  as  distinguished  from  those  of  religion  and  of 
science,  are  characterized  by  ideality.  Corresponding  to 
this  result  both  in  order  and  in  substance  of  thought,  let 

233 


234      REPRESENTA  TIVE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

us  try  to  determine  now  by  what  a  conception  of  art,  or, 
to  use  a  more  general  term,  the  significance  of  art,  so  far 
as  it  may  be  attributable  to  bodily  action,  is  character- 
ized. The  answer  will  be  found  to  be  this:  subjectively, 
by  an  individual,  or  personal  effect,  what  might  be  almost 
termed  an  idiosyncratic  bias ;  and  objectively,  closely  re- 
lated to  the  former  and  because  of  it,  by  a  sympathetic 
effect  which,  in  the  circumstances,  is  necessary  in  order  to 
cause  the  artist's  conception  to  become  the  possession  of 
others. 

It  was  shown  in  the  preceding  chapter  that  the  artist  is 
one  who,  owing  to  temperament  or  training,  is  able,  to  an 
exceptional  extent,  to  manifest  in  speech  or  action  the 
results  of  his  subconscious  intellection.  What  does  he 
obtain  through  this  form  of  intellection  ?  Surmisals, 
which,  sometimes,  as  was  shown  in  Chapter  II.,  correspond 
to  the  absolute  truth.  Nevertheless,  even  if  they  do,  he 
obtains  this  truth  in  those  forms  only  in  which  his  own 
temperament,  as  influenced  by  his  training,  is  able  to  inter- 
pret and,  according  to  the  method  indicated  on  page  165, 
to  frame  into  an  ideal  the  scenes  or  sounds  that  suggest 
the  truth.  And  what  does  he  communicate  ?  Nothing 
again  but  his  own  surmisals,  interpretations,  or  ideals. 
Moreover,  if  he  be  a  genuine  artist,  producing  nothing  but 
effects  which  represent  those  of  nature,  he  communicates 
his  surmisals  in  such  forms  only  as  cause  others,  as  a  re- 
sult of  their  own  imaginings,  to  make  similar  surmisals. 
The  artist  therefore  interprets  nature  according  to  his  own 
temperament,  and  causes  others  to  interpret  it  as  he  does. 
This  evidently  secures  a  very  different  result  than  follows 
in  the  case  of  either  religion  or  science.  Their  truth,  no 
matter  what  may  be  the  temperament  or  training  of  the 
original  proclaimer  or  discoverer,  becomes  the  property  of 


PERSONAL   EFFECTS  IN  ART.  235 

all  on  account  wholly  of  the  thoroughness  of  the  inspira- 
tions or  investigations  preceding  them.  The  truth  of  art 
is  surmised  and  embodied  according  to  the  methods  of 
imagination  and  expression  peculiar  to  the  temperament 
of  one  man  ;  and  it  becomes  the  property  of  all  mainly  on 
account  of  the  individual  influence  of  this  man  whose  in- 
tuitive impressions  have  been  so  accurate  as  to  recommend 
themselves  to  the  aesthetic  apprehensions,  and  to  awaken 
the  sympathies,  of  those  about  him. 

These  conclusions  render  it  important  to  direct  atten- 
tion, as  need  not  be  done  in  religion  or  in  science,  to  the 
agent,  the  man,  the  artist.  We  can  understand  art  fully 
so  far  only  as  we  recognize  that  everything  connected 
with  it,  is,  so  to  speak,  individualized.  This  is  true  as  ap- 
plied both  to  the  appearances  observed  in  nature,  and  to 
the  methods  through  which  the  mind  develops  the  con- 
ceptions that  it  derives  from  these  appearances.  Applying 
the  statement,  first,  to  the  appearances  themselves,  let  us 
ask  what  is  meant  by  the  artist's  individualizing  these. 
Of  course,  it  must  be  meant  that,  while  influenced  by  his 
surroundings,  he  remodels  them  according  to  his  own 
peculiar  mood  ;  it  is  meant  that  he  himself  is  so  affected 
by  them,  his  mind  is  moved  to  such  unconscious  energy 
in  view  of  them,  as  necessarily  to  cause  his  ideas  concern- 
ing them  and  his  descriptions  or  representations  of  them 
to  be  colored  by  the  exuberant  glow  of  his  own  personal 
imagination.  For  instance,  in  the  following,  anybody 
could  have  stated  that  the  ocean  was  quiet.  One  thing 
that  makes  the  passage  artistic  is  the  imagination  of  the 
individual  poet,  which  gives  rise  to  the  comparison  between 
the  object  seen  and  the  attitude  and  eye  of  a  slave. 

Still  as  a  slave  before  his  lord, 
The  ocean  hath  no  blast  ; 


236      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

His  great  bright  eye  most  silently 
Up  to  the  Moon  is  cast. 

The  Ancient  Mariner  :  Coleridge. 

Or,  again,  when  Henry  Ward  Beecher  asserts  that  "it  is 
not  well  for  a  man  to  pray  cream  and  to  live  skim-milk  "  ; 
or  that  "the  mother's  heart  is  the  child's  school-room, " 
— it  is  largely  the  comparisons  traceable  to  the  preacher's 
individual  imagination  that  lift  the  statements  out  of  the 
realm  of  the  commonplace  into  that  of  art. 

Lessing  in  his  "  Laocoon  "  calls  attention  to  the  pas- 
sage of  Pope,  in  which  he  says : 

Soft  were  my  numbers  ;   who  could  take  offence 
While  pure  description  held  the  place  of  sense  ? 

Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot. 

"  Pure  description," — could  any  words  better  express  the 
absence  of  those  artistic,  because  human  suggestions 
which — to  say  nothing  of  "  sense,"  though  they  contribute 
to  it — must  be  added  to  "  description  "  before  it  can  be- 
come poetic  ?  Here,  for  instance,  is  a  prose  reference  to 
the  effects  of  snow  : 

To  add  to  the  inconvenience  of  the  journey,  the  snow  began  to  fall 
pretty  quickly.  The  postilion,  however,  proceeded  on  his  journey  for  a 
good  many  miles  without  expressing  doubt  or  hesitation.  It  was  not  until 
the  night  was  completely  set  in  that  he  intimated  his  apprehensions  whether 
he  was  in  the  right  road.  The  increasing  snow  rendered  this  intimation 
rather  alarming,  for,  as  it  drove  full  in  the  lad's  face,  and  lay  whitening  all 
around  him,  it  served  in  two  different  ways  to  confuse  his  knowledge  of  the 
country  and  to  diminish  the  chance  of  his  recovering  the  right  track. 

Guy  Mannering,  i.,  27  :  Scott. 

And  here  is  another  prose  reference  amid  surroundings 
otherwise  poetic : 


PERSONAL   EFFECTS  IN  ART.  237 

A  dreadful  winter  came,  each  day  severe, 
Misty  when  mild  and  icy-cold  when  clear  ; 
And  still  the  humble  dealer  took  his  load, 
Returning  slow,  and  shivering  on  the  road. 

Resentment :  Crabbe. 

Let  us  contrast  with  these  quotations,  now,  a  descrip- 
tion that  is  poetic. 

The  mists  boil  up  around  the  glaciers  ;  clouds 
Rise  curling  fast  beneath  me,  white  and  sulphury 
Like  foam  from  the  roused  ocean  of  deep  Hell, 
Where  every  wave  breaks  on  a  living  shore 
Heaped  with  the  damned  like  pebbles  ; — I  am  giddy. 

Filling  up 

The  ripe  green  valleys  with  destruction's  splinters  ; 
Damming  the  rivers  with  a  sudden  dash, 
Which  crushed  the  waters  into  mist,  and  made 
Their  fountains  find  another  channel. 

Manfred  :  Byron. 

This  is  somewhat  extravagant,  but  it  is  quoted  for  this 
very  reason, — in  order  to  show  the  contrast.  Here  is 
another  passage,  also  poetic  in  thought,  though  arranged 
in  the  form  of  prose  : 

"  The  scared  leaves  only  flew  the  faster  for  all  this,  and  a  giddy  chase  it 
was  ;  for  they  got  into  unfrequented  places  where  there  was  no  outlet,  and 
where  their  pursuer  kept  them  eddying  round  and  round  at  his  pleasure  ; 
and  they  crept  under  the  eaves  of  houses,  and  clung  tightly  to  the  sides  of 
hayracks  like  bats  ;  and  tore  in  at  open  chamber  windows,  and  cowered 
•close  to  hedges,  and  in  short  went  anywhere  for  safety.  But  the  oddest 
feat  they  achieved  was  to  take  advantage  of  the  sudden  opening  of  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  front  door,  to  dash  wildly  into  his  passage  ;  whither  the  wind, 
following  close  upon  them,  and  finding  the  back  door  open,  incontinently 
blew  out  the  lighted  candle  held  by  Miss  Pecksniff,  and  slammed  the  front 
•door  against  Mr.  Pecksniff,  who  was  at  that  moment  entering,  with  such 
violence  that  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  lay  on  his  back  at  the  bottom  of 
the  steps."  Martin  Chuzzlewit,  ii.  :  Dickens. 


238      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

One  difference  between  the  prosaic  and  the  poetic,  as 
respectively  illustrated  in  these  passages,  lies  in  the  fact 
that  the  former  is  devoid  of  any  interpretive  influence 
produced  upon  the  details  mentioned  by  the  intervening 
human  mind  through  which  it  has  come  to  us,  whereas  of 
the  latter  the  contrary  is  true.  The  same  should  be  true 
of  all  products  purporting  to  be  those  of  art.  No  men 
are  great  painters  merely  because  they  accurately  repro- 
duce the  shapes  or  hues  of  nature  ;  or  great  sculptors, 
merely  because  they  remould  some  ancient  masterpiece 
or  merely  imitate  in  marble  some  modern  living  model. 
It  is  the  individuality  of  the  effect  characterizing  the  new 
product  that  gives  it  artistic  soul  and  life.  In  what  con- 
sists the  difference  between  the  artists  living  in  Rome 
to-day  and  the  artisans  who  do  their  chiselling  for  them  ? 
Is  it  not  in  this  ? — that  the  artists  give  form  to  their  own 
conceptions,  while  the  artisans  give  form  to  the  concep- 
tions of  their  employers? 

The  action  of  the  mind  in  art  was  said  in  Chapter  XII. 
to  be  successful  in  the  degree  in  which  the  appearances 
of  nature  are  analogously  and  accurately  represented  or 
imaged.  Here  it  has  been  said  that  this  action  is  charac- 
teristic of  the  individual  artist,  and  that  its  results  are 
successful  in  the  degree  in  which  natural  appearances  have 
become  modified  by  his  influence.  Between  these  state- 
ments there  is  an  apparent  contradiction.  But  it  is  only 
apparent. 

A  moment's  thought  will  enable  us  to  recognize  that 
that  which  constitutes  one's  individuality  often  lies  in  traits 
of  which  he  is  unaware.  Or,  if  through  a  study  of  him- 
self or  of  the  opinion  of  the  community  he  have  become 
aware  of  them,  they  are  even  then  expressed,  as  a  rule, 
involuntarily.  A  man  is  never  more  thoroughly  himself 


PERSONAL   EFFECTS  IN  ART.  239 

than  when  so  interested  in  something  else  as  to  forget  him- 
self. The  Christ  said  (Matt,  x.,  39)  that  "  he  that  loseth  his 
life  for  my  sake  shall  find  it."  Wherefore  should  not  art 
affirm  the  same  ?  Can  we  fail  to  find  many  indisputable 
reasons  why  it  should  ?  Is  it  not  true  that  those  who 
prove  fascinating  to  us  in  the  world,  whether  children  and 
friends  not  acting  for  effect,  or  professionally  trained 
actors  and  dancers,  prove  so  because  of  slight  unconscious 
peculiarities  of  movement  in  body  or  voice  which  are 
characteristic  of  them  as  individuals,  and  cannot  be 
acquired  by  another  with  another  personality  ?  This 
fact  is  true  of  the  effects  of  any  kind  of  expression 
embodied  in  any  kind  of  form.  The  chief  charm  of  a 
melody,  poem,  painting,  or  statue,  even  of  a  building, 
often  lies  in  certain  subtle  touches  given  to  it  by  its  pro- 
ducer unconsciously, — in  characteristics  which  it  is  impos- 
sible for  the  critic  to  analyze  so  as  to  describe  them.  Yet 
it  is  these  very  touches  that  most  surely  represent  the 
artist's  individuality,  and  they  can  all  be  given  while  con- 
sciously he  is  representing  only  something  else.  Could 
any  better  proof  be  afforded  of  the  general  accuracy  of 
the  view  that  has  just  been  presented?  Unless  he  use 
forms  that  can  be  wholly  compassed  by  consciousness, 
and  therefore  brought  within  the  imitative  possibilities  of 
every  one,  all  subjects  which  the  artist  re-presents  must 
manifest  the  influence  of  his  own  personality. 

When  it  is  said  that  the  artist  individualizes  his  pro- 
ducts, no  more  is  affirmed  than  is  suggested  by  the  fact 
that  great  originality  of  mind,  involving,  as  it  does,  a  ten- 
dency to  idealize  and  to  speculate,  is  usually  confounded 
with  eccentricity  and  deemed  an  impediment  to  the  care- 
ful discharge  of  the  task  of  a  religious  teacher,  or  to  the 
accurate  and  impartial  analysis  essential  to  success  in 


240      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

science  ;  whereas  every  schoolboy,  musing  on  the  genius 
of  his  recitation  room,  believes  originality,  and  this  in 
the  sense,  too,  of  eccentricity,  to  be  not  alone  the  essen- 
tial but  almost  the  only  requisite  for  success  in  art.  All 
general  beliefs  are  based  upon  truths.  This  belief  is 
based  upon  the  requirement  that  the  artist  must  be  able 
to  make  the  forms  of  nature  after  which  he  models  con- 
form to  his  individual  mentality.  If  art  were  nature,  it 
would  not  be  art ;  and  the  only  possible  distinction  be- 
tween the  two  which  can  be  determined  by  the  concep- 
tions embodied  is  that  the  one  is  characteristic  of  the  mind 
of  the  Creator,  and  the  other  equally  so  of  the  mind  of 
man.  Now  one  whom  the  world  esteems  "  a  character," 
and  with  whom  therefore  it  associates  an  essential  capacity 
for  characterization,  is,  par  excellence,  a  man  whose  indi- 
viduality is  distinct  and  definite.  The  characteristic  effects 
are  sometimes  produced  by  traits  that  are  merely  eccentric. 
But  whatever  may  produce  them,  they  are  apt  to  render 
any  individualization  of  nature  that  he  attempts,  distinct 
and  definite.  Therefore,  the  artist  and  the  eccentric  char- 
acter have  something  in  common  ;  and  the  boy's  mistake 
in  judging  of  the  genius  of  his  school,  is  only  that  which 
is  common  with  his  elders, — namely,  that  of  taking  some- 
thing to  be  everything. 

On  page  234  it  was  said  that,  closely  related  to  the 
subjective  individuality  of  effect  characterizing  artistic 
expression,  and  because  of  it,  there  is  an  objective  sym- 
pathetic effect  which,  in  the  circumstances,  is  necessary  in 
order  to  cause  the  artist's  conception  to  become  the  pos- 
session of  others.  This  statement  hardly  needs  proof. 
When  the  artist  has  made  the  subject-matter  of  his  pro- 
duct characteristic  of  his  own  personality,  others  must  be 
influenced  by  it  as  they  would  be  by  his  personality.  But 


PERSONAL   EFFECTS  IN  ART.  24! 

how  are  they  influenced  by  this?  How  do  any  of  us 
come  to  possess  an  ideal,  or  come  to  take  an  interest  of 
any  kind  in  anything  that  is  peculiar  to  the  personality  of 
another?  There  is  but  one  answer:  It  is  through  our 
sympathies — a  word  which,  as  thus  used,  applies  primarily 
to  our  emotions,  but  includes  also  our  thoughts,  as  influ- 
enced by  these.  Now  recall  what  was  brought  out  in 
Chapter  XII. ,  namely,  that  the  method  of  the  appeal  to 
the  mind  in  art,  is  not  through  direct  unequivocal  state- 
ments, but  through  indirect  suggestive  representations, 
which  awaken  interest  in  order  to  stimulate  the  processes 
of  imagination  ;  and  is  it  not  evident  that  what  was  said 
there,  corresponds  exactly  to  what  might  be  expected  to 
be  said  here,  and  indeed  necessitates  it  ?  What  else  can 
be  the  aim  of  a  suggestive,  representative  appeal  except 
to  cause  another's  imagination — yet  freely  and  according 
to  each  mind's  own  methods  of  originating  thought — to 
frame  the  same  conceptions  as  the  artist  himself?  But  as 
soon  afe  the  artist  and  the  one  whom  he  is  endeavoring  to 
influence,  both  conceive  the  same  thing,  and  both  con- 
ceive it  freely,  and  for  this  reason  both  originate  it  for 
themselves,  although  the  artist  alone  may  suggest  it, — 
what  have  we  but  the  deepest  sympathy  between  the 
two  ;  sympathy  derived  not  from  formal  agreement,  but 
from  concurrence  in  the  formative  processes  preceding  an 
agreement;  from  concurrence  in  the  methods  of  mental 
operation,  and  hence,  according  to  what  was  said  in  Chap- 
ter IV.,  from  concurrence  in  spirit  and  in  truth  ? 

Accordingly,  it  is  evident,  owing  not  only  to  the  individ- 
ual or  personal  effect  of  artistic  expression,  but  also  to  the 
general  method  always  characterizing  it,  namely,  of  sug- 
gestion through  representation,  that  art  appeals  especially 
to  human  sympathy.  In  this  light,  we  may  detect 


242      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

a  special  appropriateness  in  that  well-nigh  obsolete  term, 
which  used  to  be  applied  to  all  its  developments,  namely, 
the  humanities.  "Is  it  not  poetical?"  says  Schiller,  in 
one  of  his  letters  to  Goethe ;  "  still  it  is,  as  you  express  itr 
human ;  and  the  human  is  always  the  beginning  of  the 
poetical,  which  is  only  its  summit." 

Now  for  examples  to  illustrate  this  appeal  of  art  to  the 
sympathies.  Notice  the  way  in  which  Tennyson  begins 
his  "Gardener's  Daughter": 

This  morning  is  the  morning  of  the  day 
When  I  and  Eustace  from  the  city  went 
To  see  the  Gardener's  Daughter  ;  I  and  he 
Brothers  in  art  ;  a  friendship  so  complete 
Portioned  in  halves  between  us,  that  we  grew 
The  fable  of  the  city  where  we  dwelt. 

And  his  "Maud": 

I  hate  the  dreadful  hollow  behind  the  little  wood, 

Its  lips  in  the  field  above  are  dabbled  with  blood-red  heath. 

And  how  Browning  begins  his  "  Ring  and  the  Book": 

Do  you  see  this  ring  ? 

'T  is  Rome-work  made  to  match 
(By  Castellani's  imitative  craft) 
Etrurian  circlets  found,  some  happy  morn,  etc. 

****** 
Do  you  see  this  square  old  yellow  book,  I  toss 
I'  the  air,  and  catch  again,  and  twirl  about 
By  the  crumpled  vellum  covers — pure  crude  fact, 

****** 

Examine  it  yourselves  !     I  found  this  book, 
Gave  a  lira  for  it,  eight  pence  English  just, 
(Mark  the  predestination  ! )  when  a  Hand, 
Always  above  my  shoulder,  pushed  me  once, 
One  day  still  fierce  'mid  many  a  day  struck  calm, 
Across  a  square  in  Florence,  crammed  with  booths, 
Buzzing  and  blaze,  noon-tide  and  market-time  j 


PERSONAL   EFFECTS  IN  ART.  243 

i 

Toward  Baccio's  marble — ay,  the  basement-ledge 

O'  the  pedestal  where  sits  and  menaces 

John,  of  the  Black  Bands,  with  the  upright  spear, 

'Twixt  palace  and  church, — Riccardi  where  they  lived, 

His  race,  and  San  Lorenzo,  where  they  lie. 

This  book, — precisely  on  that  palace-step,  etc. 

These  passages  read  as  if  the  writer  desired,  above 
all  things — and  Browning  at  the  expense  even  of  per- 
spicuity— to  take  us  into  his  confidence, — as  if  he  con- 
sidered us  on  a  level  with  his  own  plane  of  thought,  and 
believed  that  we  would  understand  his  feelings  in  the 
circumstances,  which  therefore  he  need  not  describe  to 
us.  Thus,  according  to  the  well-known  principle  that 
to  confide  in  another,  whether  intellectually  or  emotion- 
ally, is  one  of  the  surest  ways  in  which  to  influence  him, 
the  mind  of  the  reader,  so  far  as  the  method  of  ex- 
pression can  accomplish  the  result,  is  at  once  brought 
into  sympathy  with  the  mind  of  the  writer. 

The  explanation  of  the  method  seems  to  be  that, 
as  human  beings,  men  crave  sympathy  not  merely  with 
the  voluntary  movements  of  their  minds  but  often  with 
the  involuntary.  But  the  universe  which  surrounds  them 
is  a  constant  mystery  and  source  of  speculation.  They 
believe  that  there  are  causes  for  its  forms  and  movements, 
spiritual  meanings  back  of  its  material  symbols.  Yet 
these  are  apprehended  only  vaguely,  looming  dimly, 
as  they  do,  from  the  regions  of  the  unseen.  Accordingly 
when  a  work  of  art,  produced  by  one  whose  subconscious 
or  hidden  intellection  is  able  to  commune  with  these 
regions,  embodies  these  vague  views  of  men  in  material 
forms,  appealing  in  such  ways  as  to  reveal  to  each  one's 
consciousness  the  truthfulness  of  his  previous  unformed 
apprehensions,  it  is  inevitable  that  his  soul  should  ex- 
perience intense  satisfaction.  He  feels  that  his  own 


244      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

views  have  been  confirmed  by  another's  intellect  not 
alone  but  at  the  same  time,  have  been  felt  also  by  an- 
other's heart.  This  recognition  of  the  sympathetic  ap- 
peal of  art  gives  us  one  reason  why  those  susceptible 
to  its  influence — and  who  would  trust  the  critical  insight 
or  appreciation  of  any-  man  who  was  not  ? — are  often, 
especially  in  early  life,  so  completely  mastered  by  the 
significance  of  certain  art-products.  Sometimes,  in  wan- 
dering through  a  gallery,  they  come  upon  some  painting 
or  statue,  and  are  so  wonderfully  thrilled  by  it  that 
they  sit  and  watch  it  till  the  tears  come,  and  the  room 
grows  dim,  and  hours  pass  by,  of  which  they  are  uncon- 
scious ;  and  when,  in  the  end,  they  arouse  themselves 
and  leave  the  place,  they  wish  for  no  further  sight,  each 
other  seeming  vulgar  and  profane  beside  that  holy  thing 
with  which,  for  the  time,  they  seem  to  have  come  in 
contact. 

Even  the  fact  that  artists  themselves,  though  in  youth 
subject  to  moods  like  these,  subsequently  outgrow  them, 
and  discover  more  interest  in  the  details  of  the  technique 
than  in  the  subject-matter  of  a  product,  confirms  rather 
than  confutes  the  general  principle  involved.  We  are 
interested  in  that  with  which  we  have  the  most  sym- 
pathy. Why  should  not  the  artist  have  most  sym- 
pathy with  those  methods  of  workmanship  to  which,  for 
years,  his  attention  has  been  chiefly  directed  ?  And  why 
should  this  not  be  so  for  the  very  reason  that  causes 
the  outside  world,  which  knows  comparatively  little  of 
these  methods,  to  care  chiefly  for  the  general  conception 
to  which  the  completed  work  gives  expression  ?  It  is 
because  no  soul  can  sympathize  with  a  conception  higher 
than  its  own  best  possibilities  that  popular  art,  as  a  rule, 
embodies  views  of  life  which  are  common  to  all  men, 


PERSONA  LITY  A  ND  S  YMPA  TH  Y  NON-  CON  FLIC  TING.    24$ 

rather  than  peculiar  to  a  few.  It  is  because  love  is 
universal,  that  love-stories  are  the  most  universally  pop- 
ular. At  the  same  time,  of  course,  popularity  is  not 
a  sufficient  criterion  by  which  to  judge  of  art — any  more 
than  of  anything  else.  The  value  of  the  popularity  de- 
pends upon  its  quality,  and,  in  art,  which  involves  an 
appeal  to  intelligence  and  experience,  it  depends  upon 
the  quality  of  these.  A  whole  community  of  money- 
makers may  aim  so  much  more  at  practical  utility  than 
at  poetic  aspiration  that  the  images  thrust  in  front  of 
their  cigar-shops  may  seem  to  outrival  in  attractiveness 
all  the  statues  on  the  avenues  of  continental  Europe. 
The  Saxony  peasants,  visiting  the  picture  gallery  in 
Dresden,  care  little  for  a  Raphael,  a  Titian,  or  a  Correg- 
gio,  but  a  rustic  scene  of  Tenier's — and  the  same  would 
probably  be  true  of  the  cheapest  chromo,  could  they 
find  it  there — will  expand  their  eyes  and  mouths  and 
make  the  universal  household  and  whole  village,  some- 
times, as  it  seems,  swarm  around  the  frame,  and  buzz 
like  bees  about  a  sugar-keg.  But  such  facts,  while 
showing  the  importance  of  education  in  art,  show  also 
the  importance  of  its  appealing  to  that  sympathetic  ele- 
ment in  human  nature,  which  antedates  education,  and 
which  no  amount  of  education  can  supplant. 

At  first  thought,  the  principle  previously  stated  on 
page  238,  namely,  that  the  art-product  is  successful  in 
the  degree  in  which  the  artist  represents  his  surroundings 
in  such  ways  as  to  manifest  his  own  individual  character, 
seems  to  conflict  with  the  principle  just  unfolded,  which 
attributes  his  success  to  the  degree  in  which  the  concep- 
tion that  he  embodies  is  not  individual,  but  general. 
Second  thought,  however,  will  convince  us  that  the  two 
principles  conflict  only  seemingly.  In  practical  experience, 


246     REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

no  one  has  any  difficulty  in  recognizing  the  individ- 
uality of  a  Raphael  and  a  Shakespeare  in  almost  every 
product  of  their  skill ;  yet  this  does  not  prevent  the 
product  from  being  an  accurate  representation  of  nature 
as  viewed  by  all  men.  Painters,  sculptors,  dramatists, 
are  greatest  when  most  thoroughly  themselves,  yet  great- 
est also  when  their  minds,  like  mirrors,  reflect  their 
surroundings  in  such  ways  as  to  conform  most  exactly 
to  the  observations  of  others.  The  reason  for  this,  of 
course,  is  that  no  conceptions  of  the  meanings  of  nature 
can  be  universally  accepted,  except  so  far  as  they  have 
been  derived  from  the  appearances  of  nature  as  univers- 
ally perceived. 

These  statements  direct  thought  back  at  once  to  what 
was  said  in  Chapter  XIII.  with  reference  to  the  sources 
of  art  in  artistic  emotion  and  hence  in  temperament. 
One  who  is  to  preserve  his  own  originality,  and  yet, 
at  the  same  time,  derive  from  the  forms  and  suggestions 
of  nature  the  same  conceptions  that  others  derive  from 
them ;  one  who  is  to  have  the  personal  force  to  incor- 
porate in  a  form  peculiar  to  himself  that  phase  of  truth, 
natural  or  spiritual,  which  most  readily  commends  itself  to 
all,  must  evidently  be  a  man  of  sensibility,  as  well  as 
of  rationality,  a  man  able  to  sympathize  as  well  as  to 
infer.  Only  such  a  man  can  be  conscious  of  almost  every 
influence  at  work  on  every  side  of  him,  and  yet  throw  all 
the  energy  of  his  subconscious  or  involuntary  mind,  as 
we  have  found  that  the  artist  must  do,  into  the  expres- 
sion of  the  fact.  Only  such  a  man  can  be  controlled 
by  his  surroundings,  and  yet  manifest  the  freedom  from 
control  which  is  essential  to  that  play  of  the  mind  which 
is  characteristic  of  all  imaginative  results. 

Accordingly  we  must  conclude  that  here  too,  as  well  as 


GENIUS.  247 

in  connection  with  the  conditions  mentioned  in  Chapter 
XIII.,  we  have  revealed  a  sense  in  which  every  artist,  as 
well  as  poet,  is  "  born  and  not  made."  At  least  it  must  be 
true  that  so  far  as  he  is  made,  his  training  must  be  such 
as  to  increase  his  inborn  capabilities  of  being  aroused  by 
the  appearances  about  him  to  subconscious  and  involun- 
tary intellection  in  harmony  with  suggestions  legitimate 
to  these  appearances.  This  is  about  the  same  as  to  say 
that  the  great  artist  must  have  within  him  the  possibilities 
of  genius.  For  what  is  genius  ?  The  term  is  derived — 
through  the  Latin  word  genus,  meaning  something  char- 
acterized by  the  source  of  its  begetting  or  production, 
therefore  a.  family,  race,  or,  in  this  sense,  kind — from  the 
word  genere,  meaning  to  beget  or  produce.  The  word  genus 
seems  to  combine,  therefore,  the  ideas  both  of  kind  and 
of  production.  It  means  the  kind  that  is  produced.  The 
termination  ius  means  belonging  to.  Therefore,  genius 
means  something  belonging  to  the  kind  that  is  produced. 
All  recognize  that  by  the  genius  of  an  age  or  a  race,  as  when 
we  say  "  the  genius  of  the  American  people,"  is  meant  the 
kind  of  production  in  thought,  word,  deed,  invention,  or 
composition,  that  belongs  to  the  age  or  race.  And  a 
genius, — what  is  he,  but  some  one  man  who  is  the  source 
of  this  kind  of  production  ? — a  man  whose  feelings,  aims, 
opinions,  deeds,  or  words  are  true  representatives  of  kinds 
that  belong  to  his  age  or  race?  Was  not  this  true  of 
Homer,  Pheidias,  Raphael,  Milton,  Mozart,  Goethe,  and 
Beethoven  ?  Could  their  works  have  appeared  except 
when  and  where  they  were  produced  ?  And  if  we  want 
to  find  out  what  was  the  genius  of  the  age  of  each,  do  we 
not  examine  what  was  done  by  these  men  and  by  others 
who  were  typical  of  their  age?  And  is  not  this  one 
reason  why  we  term  these  men  geniuses?  But,  of  course, 


248      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

there  is  also  another  reason,  yet  it  is  connected  with  this. 
As  indicated  on  pages  223  to  227,  a  man  is  considered  to 
be  a  genius  in  the  degree  in  which  he  is  able  to  give  un- 
impeded outward  expression  to  results  coming  from  the 
hidden  sphere  of  mind.  But  this  sphere  is  occultly  con- 
nected with  the  whole  hidden  or  spiritual  sphere  of  na- 
ture. The  genius,  therefore,  is  a  man  whose  temperament 
makes  him  one  of  his  kind,  and  therefore  makes  his  pro- 
ducts reflect  the  fact,  in  the  sense  of  inclining  him  to 
be  influenced  as  are  other  human  beings,  and  as  are  also 
all  the  animate  or  inanimate  developments  of  life  that  is 
not  human.  The  word  genius  is  sometimes  used  for  the 
word  spirit.  Why  is  this  except  because  genius  tends 
like  spirit  to  make  the  mind  work  in  harmony  with  what 
may  be  termed  the  Mind  in  nature,  and  hence,  according 
to  the  principle  brought  out  on  page  94,  with  the  Spirit, 
or,  if  we  choose  to  be  polytheistic,  the  spirits  in  nature,  of 
which  Milton  sings  when  he  says  ?— 

And  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 
Above,  about,  or  underneath, 
Sent  by  some  Spirit  to  mortals  good, 
Or  th'  unseen  Genius  of  the  wood. 

//  Penseroso. 

The  genius's  interpretations  of  nature  commend  them- 
selves, therefore,  both  because  nature  makes  the  same 
appeal  to  him  as  to  others  through  its  visible  forms,  and 
also  because  it  causes  a  unity  of  action  between  the  sub- 
conscious processes  of  his  mind  and  its  own  invisible  pro- 
cesses. This  unity  of  action  results  in  expression  which 
is  artistic  inasmuch  as  it  is  characteristic  of  the  individual 
artist,  and  yet  is  also  natural  inasmuch  as  it  is  characteristic 
of  what  is  experienced  by  men  in  general,  the  representa- 
tions of  art  notwithstanding  the  intervention  of  human 


GENIUS  AND   GENIALITY.  249 

skill,  appearing  to  spring  up  and  flow  forth  to  influence  as 
instinctively  as  fountains  issue  into  streams  and  buds  burst 
.into  blossoms.  As  a  result,  the  art  of  any  age  is  the  bloom- 
ing and  fruitage  of  the  influences  of  nature  and  humanity 
that  have  been  at  work  on  every  side  throughout  long 
centuries. 

The  same  conception  of  the  province  of  genius  is  in- 
volved also  in  the  use  that  we  make  of  another  word, — 
the  adjective  genial,  meaning  that  which  is  kindly  stimulat- 
ing because  coming  from  one  of  one's  kind  or  kin.  We 
all  recognize  this  meaning  as  applied  in  ordinary  language 
to  the  productive  influence  of  one  natural  object  upon 
another, —  that  of  the  April  sun,  for  instance,  on  the 
meadow.  A  similar  influence,  natural  and  life-stimulat- 
ing, on  the  part  of  works  of  art  upon  the  human  mind,  is 
similarly  termed.  But  a  writer  or  composer  of  any  pro- 
duct of  art  who  is  really  genial  or  congenial  is,  so  far,  a 
genius.  Thus  not  alone  these  words,  but  the  ideas  ex- 
pressed in  them,  appear  related. 

It  is  worth  noticing,  too,  that  a  family  of  German  words 
appear  to  embody  similar  distinctions.  All  familiar  with 
this  language  will  recall  that  "  das  deutches  gemu'th " 
means  no  more,  no  less,  than  what  in  English  could  be 
termed  "  the  genius,"  or  "  nature,"  or  "  kind  of  nature  "  of 
the  German.  But  "  ein  grosses  gemuth  "  means  a  little 
more  than  a  great  nature.  It  is  applied,  for  instance,  to 
a  man  like  Goethe  ;  and  then  it  means  one  who  in  his 
nature  has  as  much  of  what  we  would  term  genius  as  a 
German  could  signify  without  using  his  word  for  genius. 
Again,  there  is  the  so-called  untranslatable  word  gemuth- 
lich.  What  does  it  mean?  What  but  "  genial  "  or  "  con- 
genial"? And  what  does  "  gemuthlichkeit "  mean  but 
"  geniality  "  or  "  congeniality  "  ?  The  Germans  use  these 


250      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

words  more  frequently  than  we  do  their  equivalents,  thus 
giving  their  expressions  a  somewhat  broader  range  of 
meaning  than  the  corresponding  English  expressions. 
Nevertheless,  in  both  languages  the  words  of  the  groups 
are  related,  as  has  been  indicated  ;  and  this  fact  throws 
light  upon  the  relations  of  the  ideas  signified  by  the 
words  as  used  in  English.  The  artist  must  be  preemi- 
nently a  man  who  has  a  temperament  congenial  both  to 
that  of  other  men  and  to  nature.  He  must  be  able  to 
feel,  as  well  as  to  perceive,  the  truth  behind  the  manifes- 
tations of  life  about  him,  and  be  able  also  to  embody 
it  in  forms  intelligible  and  attractive  to  his  fellows. 

We  sometimes  hear  it  intimated  that  a  foremost  char- 
acteristic of  the  artistic  mind  is  brilliancy.  Let  us  accept 
this  word.  Brilliants  concentrate  and  disperse  the  light. 
The  artist  gathers  in  the  truth  which  is  manifested  through 
the  appearances  of  nature,  truth  which  is  ordinary  to  an 
ordinary  mind,  and,  forcing  it  through  his  own  limiting 
but  also  illuminating  individuality,  makes  it  flash  forth 
with  illustrating  wisdom  on  all  the  world  about  him. 

In  this  way  art  humanizes  nature  according  to  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  one  man,  yet  succeeds  in  making 
it  human  for  all  because  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  this 
man  accord  in  general  with  those  of  all  men.  The  artist  is 
a  mediator  between  the  actual  truth  of  nature  and  the  pos- 
sibility in  the  race  of  recognizing  actual  truth.  He  is  in 
fact  the  priest  of  nature,  in  his  rank  inferior  to  the  priests 
of  revelation  only.  He,  too,  lifts  the  veil  that  hangs 
about  God's  earthly  tabernacle.  He,  too,  steps  within 
the  holy  place,  bows  before  the  light  which  shines  from 
the  Shekinah,  and  comes  back  to  the  masses  bearing 
them  a  message  from  that  which  always  dwells  behind  the 
symbol. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ARTISTIC    SIGNIFICANCE    AS    ATTRIBUTABLE    TO    BODILY 

ACTION,   AND    TENDING   SUBJECTIVELY   TO    THE 

POSSESSION   OF   CULTURE,    OBJECTIVELY 

TO  THE  EXPRESSION  OF  SENTIMENT. 

• 

Connection  between  Thought  in  this  and  in  the  Preceding  Chapter — Culture  : 
its  Relation  to  Training — Its  Development  through  Art-Study — Sen- 
timent as  Defined  by  Kames  and  Schiller — Is  Characteristic  of  Artistic 
Expression — The  Tendency  of  the  Distinctively  Artistic  to  Express  and 
Awaken  Sentiment  is  a  Test  by  which  to  Distinguish  it  from  the  Re- 
ligious Influencing  Conduct  and  the  Scientific  Imparting  Information — 
Inartistic  Examples  from  Pollok  and  Wordsworth — But  it  must  not  be 
Supposed  that  Sentiment  itself  cannot  be  Religious  or  Scientific — Ex- 
amples from  Tennyson  and  Shakespeare  —  Milton's  Expressions  of 
Religious  Faith  in  Form  of  Sentiment — Of  Information  to  Awaken 
Sentiment — Criticism  of  these  Passages — Mistake  of  Sup  posing  that  not 
to  Use  the  Religious  and  Scientific  except  for  Sentiment  Means  the 
same  as  not  to  Use  them  at  all — Great  Artists  have  Manifested  a 
Desire  to  Promote  Religion,  Morality,  and  Learning — Quotations  from 
Shakespeare  Evincing  this — Shakespeare's,  Dante's,  Milton's,  and 
Wordsworth's  Affirmation  of  this  Desire — The  Great  Poets  Men  of 
Education — Same  Facts  Exemplified  in  the  Products  of  the  Great  Mu- 
sicians, Painters,  and  Sculptors — No  Inconsistency  between  the  View 
Presented  in  this  Chapter  and  that  which  Deems  Pleasure  the  Aim  of 
Art — Sentiment  Meets  all  Demands  of  this  Theory  and  Fulfils  them 
better. 

/CORRESPONDING  in  order  and  substance  of  thought 
to  the  third  of  the  questions  discussed  when  treating 
in  Chapters  VII.  to  XII.  of  conceptions  in  religion,  science, 
and  art,  let  us  notice  now  the  general  result  of  signifi- 
cance so  far  as  attributable,  as  it  is  in  all  the  arts,  to  bodily 

251 


252      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

action.  We  shall  find  this  result  to  be,  so  far  as  it  is  sub- 
jective, the  possession,  within  the  mind,  of  what  is  termed 
culture,  and,  so  far  as  it  is  objective,  the  expression  of 
what  is  termed  sentiment. 

That  the  subjective  result  is  culture,  follows  from  the 
difference  indicated  on  page  224  between  that  which  the 
mind  is  supposed  to  receive  through  information  and 
through  training.  Is  it  not  almost  entirely  to  the  effects 
of  the  latter  that  we  apply  the  term  culture  ?  When  we 
say  that  a  man  has  cultivated  himself,  whether  referring  to 
his  voice  or  hands,  as  in  elocution;  to  his  ears  or  fingers, 
as  in  music ;  or  to  his  logical  or  imaginative  powers,  as  in 
oratory,  we  mean  more  than  that  he  has  merely  received 
information.  If  he  had  received  this  only,  we  should  not 
use  the  word  that  we  do.  We  mean  that  he  has  acquired 
what  he  possesses  through  practice.  And  as  practice,  of 
the  kind  which  can  be  consciously  undertaken  through 
the  agency  of  the  bodily  voice,  hands,  or  brain  (see  pages 
220  to  232),  is  indispensable  to  the  obtaining  of  efficiency 
in  artistic  invention  or  expression,  the  conclusion  is  inevi- 
table that  what  we  have  termed  the  subjective  result  of 
this  practice  should  be  culture. 

Or  consider  the  subject  in  another  light.  What,  ac- 
cording to  the  conceptions  of  men  in  general,  is  a  man 
of  culture?  Does  not  the  following  describe  him?  He 
is  one  who  has  been  educated  in  the  sense  of  having 
been  trained  ;  who  has  not  only  a  brain  but  a  working 
brain  ;  who  is  prepared  therefore  to  deal  not  only  with 
information  but  with  suggestion  ;  a  man  whose  aims  in 
study — to  express  his  condition  in  terms  to  accord  with 
the  general  thought  presented  in  this  volume — have  re- 
garded duly  both  the  conscious  and  the  subconscious  pow- 
ers of  mind  ;  a  man  whose  memory  is  able  to  recall  from  his 


CULTURE   AND   PRACTICE.  2$$ 

own  experience  and  that  of  others,  from  history  current 
and  past,  from  books  and  life,  the  scores  and  hundreds  of 
associated  facts  and  fancies  teeming  about,  and  through, 
and  beyond  the  immediate  object  of  consideration  ;  a 
man  whose  sphere  of  thought  belongs,  therefore,  not  to 
the  small  but  to  the  great,  not  to  the  single  but  to  the 
universal ;  a  man  whose  whole  nature  is  open  to  the  cur- 
rents of  tendency  moving  in  upon  him  from  all  directions, 
and  is  prepared  both  to  apprehend  and  to  comprehend, 
to  appreciate  and  to  i  appropriate  whatever  truth  may 
loom  from  any  quarter.  Now  to  attain  these  results,  one 
influence  in  this  world  seems  to  be  particularly  effective. 
This  is  the  influence  of  art.  A  scientific  specialist  with 
any  amount  of  learning,  if  it  be  merely  learning,  may  not 
give  any  suggestion  of  what  is  meant  by  culture.  A  man 
may  study  science  all  his  life,  and  never  do  it — which  fact 
is  the  one  irrefutable  argument  against  an  entirely  scien- 
tific course  in  our  universities.  But  it  is  impossible  for 
one  to  be  a  student  of  art — a  dabbler  is  not  meant  now, 
but  a  student — and  not  begin  to  have  some  culture,  and 
this  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  is  obliged — a  statement 
which  cannot  be  made  so  absolutely  with  reference  to  any 
other  department  of  study — to  experience  some  of  the 
results  of  practice.  It  will  be  found,  too,  that  the  degree 
of  his  culture  will  often  depend  upon  the  degree  of  the 
thoroughness  with  which  he  has  studied  some  art  in  some 
of  its  phases.  Nor  is  it  too  much  to  say  that  a  broad  and 
deep  view  of  life  can  never  be  obtained  except  as  a  result 
of  such  a  conception  of  all  its  relations  as  are  appre- 
hensible through  both  conscious  and  subconscious  intel- 
lection in  the  forms  in  which  they  invariably  appeal, 
whether  he  know  it  or  not,  to  the  great  artist.  Of  course, 
in  saying  this,  one  must  not  be  understood  as  denying 


254      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

that  high  culture  may  also  include,  even  necessitate, 
much  that  is  not  in  itself  distinctively  artistic.  Nor  must 
one  be  understood  as  holding  that  the  effect  of  culture  is 
limited  to  that  which  is  direct  and  specific.  When  one 
develops  by  practice  his  illustrative,  logical,  or  any  other 
powers,  he  does  much  more  for  himself  often  than  he 
supposes.  It  is  probably  not  possible  to  cultivate  the 
mind  in  one  direction  without  cultivating  it,  more  or  less, 
in  all  directions.  Besides  this,  the  term  culture  is  itself 
very  broad  in  meaning.  It  refers  just  as  frequently  to 
the  general  condition  of  the  intellectual  atmosphere  as 
affected  by  the  light  and  heat  at  the  place  where  the 
fire  has  been  kindled  in  the  mind,  as  it  does  to  that  which 
furnishes  the  material  for  its  kindling. 

Now  let  us  turn  to  the  objective  result  of  artistic  sig- 
nificance so  far  as  influenced  by  bodily  action.  This  has 
been  said  to  be  an  expression  of  sentiment — a  result,  like 
that  noticed  in  the  case  of  culture,  following  upon  what 
has  already  been  unfolded.  In  Chapter  XIII.  it  was 
shown  that  it  is  because  of  emotions  succeeding  one  an- 
other too  rapidly  to  permit  one's  preceptions  or  expres- 
sions to  flow  wholly  in  the  channels  of  conscious  thought 
that  the  artist's  mind  works  imaginatively  with  reference 
to  the  forms  of  nature,  and  causes  the  minds  of  others  to 
work  similarly  with  reference  to  the  forms  of  art  which 
are  made  similar  to  those  of  nature.  In  other  words,  the 
imaginative  ideality  embodied  in  art  is  due  to  thought  as 
prompted  by  emotion.  But  this  is  exactly  what  Lord 
Kames  in  his  "  Elements  of  Criticism  "  says  that  senti- 
ment is,  namely,  "  thought  prompted  by  passion  or  by 
feeling."  Schiller,  too,  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Goethe,  ex- 
presses the  same  conception.  "  It  is  a  want  of  the  poetic 
nature,  not  to  say  of  the  human  mind  generally,"  he 


ARTISTIC  SENTIMENT.  2$ 5 

says,  *  to  bear  around  it  as  little  as  possible  that  is  void, 
to  appropriate  to  itself,  through  feeling,  as  much  as  is 
going  on,  to  look  for  the  bottom  of  all  appearances,  and 
to  require  everywhere  a  whole  of  humanity.  Is  the  ob- 
ject as  individual  empty  and  in  a  poetic  view  without 
import  ?  Then  the  combining  faculty  will  make  a  trial 
with  it,  and  take  hold  of  it  by  its  symbolical  aids,  and 
thus  out  of  it  make  a  language  for  humanity.  Always, 
however,  is  the  sentimental — in  a  good  sense — an  effect 
of  the  poetic  endeavor."\ 

A  slight  attempt  to  recall  the  foremost  trait  of  expres- 
sion distinguishing  any  man  who  has  given  himself  to  the 
study  and  production  of  art  will  verify  by  facts  this  con- 
clusion of  Schiller.  Is  it  not  true  that  artists  and  poets, 
and  often  even  mere  admirers  of  music,  painting,  sculp- 
ture, or  poetry,  are  persons  given  above  all  things  to 
sentiment  ?  Can  we  not  perceive  this  sometimes  in  their 
very  gaits  and  gestures,  in  the  involuntary  waverings  of 
their  lips,  in  the  unconscious  bewilderment  of  their  eyes  ? 
Does  not  the  very  sight  of  them  often  make  us  feel  that 
they  are  men  who  have  been  exhilarated,  if  not  intox- 
icated, by  drinking  in  thoughts  that  brim  above  the 
commonplace;  that  they  are  men  whose  moods  are  loyal 
to  an  all-pervading  sovereignty  of  soul  ?  Can  we  not 
often  detect,  behind  all  that  they  do  or  say,  the  spiritual 
force  of  unseen  ideality,  the  unselfishness  of  non-material 
purpose,  the  virtue  of  involuntary  industry,  the  enthusi- 
asm that  revels  amid  dim  twilights  of  inquiry  and  starry 
midnights  of  aspiration  ?  How  different  is  their  mien 
from  that  of  those  who  manifest  none  of  their  vaguer, 
softer  qualities,  but  pride  themselves  upon  the  fact  that 
they  are  sharp  !  And,  verily,  too  often  they  are  sharp, 
their  very  visages  whittled  to  a  point  like  snow-plows  on 


REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

a  wintry  track  that  always  draw  attention  downward  and 
cleave  through  paths  that  chill.  The  brightness  of  their 
eyes  is  that  of  diamonds  that  are  only  used  to  cut,  the 
summons  of  their  voices  that  of  trumpets  that  are  ever 
blowing  of  their  own  sufficiency.  No  radiance  of  a  spirit- 
ual light  that  streams  from  inward  visions,  is  haloed  from 
the  one.  No  call  toward  a  sphere  too  subtle  to  be  her- 
alded by  aught  except  "  the  still  small  voice,"  is  echoed 
from  the  other.  What  is  lacking  in  the  methods  of 
mental  action  of  men  like  these,  as  everyone  who  knows 
the  highest  possibilities  of  art  can  testify,  is  the  kind  of 
culture  secured  by  practice,  which  leads  to  the  conception 
within  and  the  expression  without  of  sentiment — not 
sentimentality,  which  is  its  caricature,  and  an  effect  not 
based  upon  facts  ;  but  vigorous  manly  sentiment,  some- 
thing rooted  deep  in  common  sense  but  yet  not  common; 
rather  its  uncommon  development  when  the  material 
branch  and  leaf,  grown  upward,  burst  into  that  which 
sheds  the  fragrance  of  the  spirit's  flower. 

The  fact  that  artistic  significance,  for  the  reasons  that 
have  been  given,  tends  to  sentiment,  both  in  the  artist 
himself  and  in  the  one  to  whom  his  product  sympa- 
thetically appeals,  affords  a  very  efficient  test  by  which 
to  distinguish  the  use  of  significance  in  art  from  its  use  in 
religion,  which  in  Chapter  XI.  we  found  to  be  aimed 
toward  influencing  conduct  ;  and  also  from  its  use  in  sci- 
ence, which  in  Chapter  XII.  we  found  to  be  aimed  toward 
imparting  information.  The  following,  for  instance,  is 
intended  chiefly  to  influence  conduct.  For  this  reason, 
though  arranged  in  the  form  of  poetry,  it  cannot  be  said 
to  be  poetic : 

On  what  pretense  soe'er 
Of  right  inherited,  or  else  acquired  ; 


THE   DIDACTIC  AND   ETHICAL   IN  ART. 

Of  loss  or  profit,  or  what  plea  you  name, 

To  buy  and  sell,  to  barter,  whip,  and  hold 

In  chains  a  being  of  celestial  make — 

Of  kindred  form,  of  kindred  faculties  ; 

Of  kindred  feelings,  passions,  thoughts,  desires, 

Born  free  and  heir  of  an  immortal  hope  : — 

Thought  villainous,  absurd,  detestable  ! 

Unworthy  to  be  harbored  in  a  fiend  ! 

And  only  overreached  in  wickedness 

By  that,  birth  too  of  earthly  liberty, 

Which  aimed  to  make  a  reasonable  man 

By  legislation  think,  and  by  the  sword 

Believe. 

The  Course  of  Time,  iv.  :  Pollok. 

This  again  is  not  poetic,  because  it  is  intended  mainly  to 
impart  information  : 

The  discipline  of  slavery  is  unknown 

Among  us, — hence  the  more  do  we  require 

The  discipline  of  virtue  ;   order  else 

Cannot  subsist,  nor  confidence,  nor  peace. 

Thus  duties  rising  out  of  good  possessed, 

And  prudent  caution  needful  to  avert 

Impending  evil,  equally  require 

That  the  whole  people  should  be  taught  and  trained. 

The  Excursion^  ix.  :    Wordsworth. 

Passages  like  these  show  that  much  that  is  called  art  is 
not  art.  But  one  must  be  careful  not  to  draw  the  infer- 
ence that,  therefore,  the  mere  presence  in  a  composition 
of  thoughts  that  in  their  nature  are  religious  or  scientific 
is  sufficient  to  render  it  inartistic.  The  principle  that 
we  are  unfolding  applies  to  the  subject-matter  of  an 
expression  so  far  only  as  concerns  the  use  to  which  it  is 
put.  A  hortatory  use,  showing  a  predominant  desire  to 
influence  conduct,  or  a  didactic  use,  showing  a  predomi- 
nant desire  to  impart  information, — this  is  that  which 
violates  the  principle.  But  an  imaginative  use,  showing 


258      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

only  a  desire  to  give  form  to  sentiment,  may  make  almost 
any  kind  of  subject-matter  artistic.  There  is  nothing 
inartistic,  for  instance,  in  the  passage  in  which  Tennyson 
causes  the  dying  Sir  Bedevere  to  say : 

If  thou  shouldst  never  see  my  face  again, 

Pray  for  my  soul.      More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 

Than  this  world  dreams  of.     Wherefore  let  thy  voice 

Rise  like  a  fountain  for  me,  night  and  day. 

For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  goats 

That  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain, 

If,  knowing  God,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prayer 

Both  for  themselves  and  those  who  call  them  friend  ? 

For  so  the  whole  round  world  is  every  way 

Bound  by  gold  chains  about  the  feet  of  God. 

Morte  d*  Arthur  :   Tennyson. 

All  this  is  natural  for  a  pious  man  when  dying.  There- 
fore, for  a  poet  to  represent  him  as  saying  it,  is  artistic. 
The  same  may  be  affirmed  of  Shakespeare's  representing 
the  English  King  as  urging  his  followers  : 

To  chase  these  pagans  in  those  holy  fields, 
Over  whose  acres  walk'd  those  blessed  feet 
Which,  fourteen  hundred  years  ago,  were  nailed 
For  our  advantage  on  the  bitter  cross. 

/  Henry  IV. ,  i. ,  i  :  Shakespeare. 

In  Milton  there  are  many  passages  enunciating  dogma 
and  imparting  information.  But  as  bearing  upon  his  rank 
as  a  poet,  it  is  important  to  notice  the  forms  in  which  he 
usually  endeavors  to  present  these.  Observe,  in  the  fol- 
lowing, how  the  words  in  the  second  line,  "  proceed,  and 
up  to  him  return,"  suggest  an  imaginative  play  of  thought 
as  prompted  by  emotion.  Observe  also,  following  this,  the 
same  effect  in  the  explanations  surmised  of  hidden  mys- 
teries through  representing  them  in  the  imagined  forms 


THE   DIDACTIC  AND   ETHICAL   IN  ART.  2$Q 

of  a  world  that  is  not  hidden.  And  observe,  finally,  the 
image  in  the  last  lines.  It  is  evident  that  the  passage,  as 
a  whole,  though,  in  a  sense,  it  may  influence  conduct  and 
impart  Information,  does  not  convey  an  impression  of 
being  primarily  intended  for  either  of  these  ends,  but  to 
awaken  thought  and  feeling  which,  though  religious, 
partake  of  the  nature  of  sentiment. 

O  Adam,  one  Almighty  is,  from  whom 

All  things  proceed,  and  up  to  him  return, 

If  not  depraved  from  good,  created  all 

Such  to  perfection,  one  first  matter  all, 

Indu'd  with  various  forms,  various  degrees 

Of  substance,  and,  in  things  that  live,  of  life  : 

But  more  refined,  more  spirituous  and  pure, 

As  nearer  to  him  placed,  or,  nearer  tending, 

Each  in  their  several  active  spheres  assigned, 

Till  body  up  to  spirit  works  in  bounds 

Proportioned  to  each  kind.     So  from  the  root 

Springs  lighter  the  green  stalk,  from  whence  the  leaves 

More  aery,  last  the  bright  consummate  flower 

Spirits  odorous  breathes. 

Paradise  Lost,  v.  :  Milton. 

This  next  quotation  reads  like  a  scientific  enumeration 
designed  to  impart  information-;  yet  is  this  its  design  ? 
Is  it  not  rather  to  convey  an  impression  of  the  extent  of 
the  territory  over  which  the  Christ  was  offered  sover- 
eignty ;  and  therefore  to  cause  what  might  be  termed  a 
sentimental  appreciation  of  the  greatness  of  his  tempta- 
tion, and  of  his  resistance  to  it  ? 

To  this  high  mountain  top,  the  tempter  brought 

Our  Saviour  and  new  train  of  words  began. 

.  .  .     Here  thou  beholdest 

Assyria  and  her  empire's  ancient  bounds, 

Araxes  and  the  Caspian  lake,  thence  on 

As  far  as  Indus  east,  Euphrates  west, 


260      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

And  oft  beyond  ;  to  south  the  Persian  bay, 
And  inaccessible  the  Arabian  drought : 
Here  Niniva  of  length  within  her  wall, 
Several  days'  journey,  built  by  Ninus  old, 
Of  that  first  golden  monarchy  the  seat, 
And  seat  of  Salmanassar,  whose  success 
Israel  in  long  captivity  still  mourns  ; 
There  Babylon,  the  wonder  of  all  tongues, 
As  ancient,  but  rebuilt  by  him  who  twice 
Judah  and  all  thy  father  David's  house 
Led  captive,  and  Jerusalem  laid  waste, 
Till  Cyrus  set  them  free  ;  Persepolis, 
His  city,  there  thou  seest,  and  Bactra  there  J 
Ecbatana  her  structure  vast  there  shows, 
And  Hecatomylos,  her  hundred  gates  ; 
There  Susa  by  Choaspe's  amber  stream, 
The  drink  of  none  but  kings  ;  of  later  fame 
Built  by  Emathian,  or  by  Parthian  hands, 
The  great  Seleucia,  Nisi  bis,  and  there 
Artaxata,  Terodon,  Ctesiphon, 
Turning  with  easy  eye  thou  may'st  behold. 

Paradise  Regained,  Hi.  :  Milton. 

All  this  and  more  that  follows  certainly  detracts  from 
the  effect  of  movement  in  the  poetry,  the  necessity  for 
which  will  be  indicated  in  Chapter  XXV.  But  the  pas- 
sage cannot  be  condemned  on  the  ground  merely  of  im- 
parting information.  This  is  evidently  not  its  principal 
motive.  At  the  same  time,  a  short,  sharp  enumeration 
as  in  the  following — an  enumeration  not  materially  im- 
peding the  movement — would  have  been  more  artistically 
effective : 

Now  were  all  transformed 
Alike  to  serpents,  all  as  accessories 
To  his  bold  riot  :  dreadful  was  the  din 
Of  hissing  through  the  hall,  thick  swarming  now 
With  complicated  monsters,  head  and  tail, 
Scorpion,  and  asp,  and  amphisbsena  dire, 


ARTISTIC    USE    OF  LEARNING  AND  ETHICS.       261 

Cerastes  horn'd,  hydrus,  and  ellops  drear, 
And  dipsas  ;  not  so  thick  swarmed  once  the  soil 
Bedropped  with  blood  of  Gorgon,  or  the  isle 
Ophiusa. 

Paradise  Lost,  x.  :  Milton. 

Very  often  passages  like  this  merely  add  to  the  impres- 
siveness  of  the  picture  conjured  before  the  imagination, 
and  are  distinctly  within  the  limits  of  an  appeal  to  senti- 
ment. For  this  reason,  though  having  much  to  do  both 
with  influencing  conduct  and  imparting  information,  they 
are  legitimate  to  art,  because  subordinated  to  its  aims. 
This  is  a  fact  important  to  recognize.  Indeed,  the  failure 
to  recognize  it  is  one  of  the  artistic  mistakes  of  our  own 
age  ;  and  is  doing  more  than  any  other,  perhaps,  to  pre- 
vent art  from  attaining  the  rank  due  to  it,  as  a  great 
instrumentality  for  the  betterment  of  humanity.  In  the 
criticisms  in  our  papers — often,  owing  to  an  affectation 
of  aesthetic  knowledge,  in  our  religious  papers, — one  finds 
an  almost  universal  tendency  to  discount,  and  for  this 
reason  solely,  poetry,  painting,  and  statuary  that  give  any 
marked  evidence  of  being  the  product  of  an  earnest,  ethi- 
cal, or  religious  nature.  One  reason — though,  of  course, 
not  by  any  means  the  sole  reason — why  certain  of  our 
greater  as  well  as  minor  pessimistic  poets,  whose  influence 
is  anything  but  inspiring,  are  so  lavishly  praised,  is  be- 
cause they  give  so  few  indications  of  having  such  a  nature ; 
and  it  is  certain  that  many  critics  of  the  drama  would 
think  twice  before  imperilling  their  reputation  by  object- 
ing to  a  really  artistically  constructed  play  merely  because 
of  its  immoral  tendency.  Yet  what  can  be  more  thor- 
oughly unphilosophical  than  to  gauge  artistic  ability  and 
taste  by  an  absence  of  those  traits  which,  in  ordinary 
life,  give  a  man  not  only  character  but  common  sense? 


262      REPRESENTA  TIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

Nevertheless  this  is  not  the  conception  which  some  of  the 
prevailing  views  of  art  convey  to  the  ordinary  mind.  "  Do 
I  appreciate  art  ? — do  my  daughters  appreciate  art  ?  "  said 
once  a  fashionably  dressed  woman  of  Chicago  in  the 
author's  presence  :  "  Formerly  they  did  n't ;  but  now, 
you  know,  we  have  been  to  Europe,  and  got  used  to 
the  undressed  statues  and  pictures  there."  And  in  this 
woman's  estimation  this  fact  was  not  an  incidental,  but  the 
essential  condition  of  artistic  appreciation.  Nor  was  the  re- 
mark a  joke.  It  was  made  seriously,  more  seriously,  pos- 
sibly, than  the  excuse  given  in  a  New  York  police  court 
by  "  Little  Egypt  "  for  the  lack  of  drapery  about  her  in  a 
public  performance.  The  excuse  was  that  she  did  it  "  in 
the  interests  of  art."  Possibly,  however,  she  was  in 
earnest.  But,  if  so,  it  is  well  enough  for  others  to  bear 
in  mind  that  art  has  also  other  interests ;  that  opinions  of 
this  sort,  if  human  nature  continue  to  be  what  it  has  been, 
are  very  likely  to  lead,  one  of  these  days,  to  a  Puritan  re- 
vival, in  which,  as  in  the  times -of  Cromwell,  inoffensive  as 
well  as  offensive  art-works  will  be  converted,  as  speedily 
as  possible,  into  the  natural,  not  to  say  chaotic,  condition 
in  which  the  Creator  may  be  supposed  to  have  originally 
left  their  constituent  elements. 

This  contingency  aside,  however,  the  absurdity  of  the 
conception  that  the  sentiment  of  art  cannot  be  in  its 
nature  religious,  ethical,  or  even  scientific,  in  the  sense  of 
manifesting  learning,  can  be  proved  by  the  slightest 
review  of  history.  Probably  no  art-product  has  ever  con- 
tinued to  influence  ages  succeeding  its  own,  except  in 
the  degree  in  which  it  has  shown  itself  to  be  the  work  of 
a  man  deeply  interested,  as  a  matter  of  sentiment  at 
least,  in  religious,  moral,  social,  or  intellectual  problems, 
and  in  their  effects  upon  humanity.  The  oldest  music 


ARTISTIC    USE    OF  LEARNING   AND    ETHICS.       263 

that  we  have  is  all  of  it  religious.  So,  when  it  is  not 
merely  ethical,  is  the  oldest  poetry.  This  is  true  not  only 
of  that  which  is  in  the  Bible,  and  the  Vedas  of  India,  but 
in  the  Iliad,  the  ^Eneid^^tnd  in  all  the  greatest  tragedies 
of  the  Greeks.  So  is  much  of  the  best  of  modern  poetry 
also, — that  of  Dante,  Racine,  Spenser,  Milton,  Words- 
worth, Schiller,  and  Shakespeare.  Very  nearly  as  large  a 
proportion  of  quotations  having  to  do  with  the  right 
conduct  of  life  can  be  taken  from  this  last  poet  as  from 
the  Bible  itself.  Nor  are  they  brought  into  his  plays  in- 
cidentally, though  they  are  brought  in  artistically,  i.  e., 
in  such  ways  as  to  aid  in  the  representation  of  the  char- 
acters depicted.  Yet  even  to  aid  in  this,  they  are  often 
so  unnecessary  as  to  prove  that  their  author  is  intention- 
ally availing  himself  of  an  opportunity  to  introduce 
thought  of  a  distinctly  religious  or  moral  tendency. 
Notice  again  the  quotation  on  page  258.  And  now  notice 
these : 

Renowned  for  their  deeds  as  far  from  home, 
(For  Christian  service  and  true  chivalry,) 
As  is  the  sepulchre  in  stubborn  Jewry, 
Of  the  world's  ransom,  blessed  Mary's  son. 

Richard  II. ,  ii. ,  j. 

I  feel  within  me 

A  peace  above  all  earthly  dignities, 
A  still  and  quiet  conscience. 

Henry  VIII.,  Hi.,  2. 

What  stronger  breast-plate  than  a  heart  untainted  ? 
Thrice  is  he  armed  that  hath  his  quarrel  just  ; 
And  he  but  naked,  though  locked  up  in  steel, 
Whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted. 

2 Henry  VI.,  Hi.,  2. 

And,  over  and  over  again,  he  stops  almost  to  preach 
against  certain  vices,  as,  for  instance,  intemperance  : 


264      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

O  that  men  should  put  an  enemy  into  their  mouths  to  steal  away  their 
brains  ! — that  we  should  with  joy,  revel,  pleasure,  and  applause,  transform 
ourselves  into  beasts  ! — Othello,  ii.,  j>. 

Every  inordinate  cup  is  unblessed,  and  the  ingredient  is  a  devil. — Idem. 

O  monstrous  beast  !    how  like  a  swine  he  lies  1 

Taming  the  Shrew,  Int.  i. 

What 's  a  drunken  man  like,  fool  ?  Like  a  drowned  man,  a  fool,  and  a 
madman  ;  one  draught  above  heat  makes  him  a  fool  ;  the  second  mads 
him  ;  and  a  third  drowns  him. —  Twelfth  Night,  i.,  j*. 

And  the  old  man  Adam,  in  a  part  said  to  have  been  often 
acted  by  the  poet  himself,  goes  out  of  his  way  to  explain 
why  he  has  preserved  his  strength  to  old  age.  He  says: 

Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty  : 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  to  my  blood  ; 
Nor  did  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility  ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty  but  kindly.     Let  me  go  with  you  ; 
I'  11  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man. 

As  You  Like  It,  ii.,  3. 

How  a  modern  aesthete  would  score  a  modern  poet 
who  should  manifest  no  more  knowledge  of  the  limits  of 
the  aesthetic  than  to  "lug  into  "  his  verse  such  manifesta- 
tions of  interest  in  religion  and  ethics  !  "  From  time  to 
time,"  says  Oscar  Wilde,  only  uttering  what  many  a  critic 
of  our  day  is  ready  to  repeat  after  him,  "  the  world  cries 
out  against  some  charming  artistic  poet  because,  to  use 
its  hackneyed  and  silly  phrase,  he  has  '  nothing  to  say/ 
But  if  he  had  something  to  say,  he  would  probably  say  it, 
and  the  result  would  be  tedious.  It  is  just  because  he  has 
no  new  message  that  he  can  do  beautiful  work."  "  If  the 
poet,"  says  the  French  critic  Baudelaire,  "  has  pursued  a 


LEARNING  IN  POETRY.  26$ 

moral  aim,  he  has  diminished  his  poetic  power,  and  it  is 
not  imprudent  to  wager  that  his  work  will  be  bad. 
Poetry  has  not  truth  for_its__object,  it  has  only  itself." 
Has  it  ?  Here  are  a  few  other  opinions  on  this  subject : 

Spend'st  thou  thy  fury  on  some  worthless  song, 
Darkening  thy  power  to  lend  base  subjects  light? 
Return,  forgetful  muse,  and  straight  redeem 
In  gentle  numbers  time  so  idly  spent. 

Sonnet  C  :  Shakespeare* 

Yet,  to  discourse  of  what  there  good  befel, 
All  else  will  I  relate  discovered  there. 

Inferno,  i  :  Dante. 

That  to  the  height  of  this  great  argument, 
I  may  assert  eternal  Providence 
And  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men. 

Paradise  Lost,  i  :  Milton. 

My  best  and  favorite  aspiration,  mounts 
With  yearning  toward  some  philosophic  song 
Of  Truth  that  cherishes  our  daily  life. 

Prelude,  Introduction  :  Wordsworth. 

And  what  poets  rank  higher  than  these  ? 

The  same  fact  is  true  as  regards  introducing  into  verse 
matter  imparting  information.  Notwithstanding  the  criti- 
cism upon  the  quotation  from  Milton  given  on  page  259, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  the  evidences  of  learning  in  any 
poem,  though,  of  course,  they  should  always  be  artisti- 
cally introduced,  increase  its  value.  That  this  is  so  may 
be  recognized  upon  recalling  the  Iliad,  the  y£neid,  the 
Divine  Comedy,  and  even  the  plays  of  Schiller,  Goethe, 
and  Shakespeare.  One  fact  closely  connected  with  this 
subject  seems  important,  because  it  is  frequently  over- 
looked and  not  seldom  misrepresented.  This  is  the  fact 
that  the  greatest  poets  of  all  times  have  been  educated 


266      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

men,  many  of  them  men  of  great  learning.  Those  of 
Greece,  Rome,  Italy,  Spain,  France,  Germany,  have  all 
illustrated  this  fact.  So  have  the  poets  of  England 
and  America,  the  only  seeming  exceptions  being  Shake- 
speare and  Burns.  But  this  much  is  known  of  the  Shake- 
speare of  Stratford.  His  father  was  a  Bailiff  of  the  town  ; 
and  the  school  of  the  town  was,  in  his  time,  one  of  the 
few  of  the  King's  schools,  ranking  with  Eton  and  Win- 
chester. Even  if  afterwards  it  could  be  said  of  him  that 
he  knew  "  little  Latin  and  less  Greek,"  this  very  phrase 
shows  that  he  had  received  the  rudiments  of  a  very 
thorough  education,  and  a  bright  boy,  by  the  time  he 
was  nineteen,  at  which  age  Shakespeare  is  said  to  have 
left  Stratford,  might  with  such  advantages  have  learned 
as  much  for  that  period  as  for  our  own  period  the  ordinary 
college  student  learns  with  his  ;  especially  if  Shakespeare 
in  his  last  year  at  Stratford  studied  law,  as  is  said.  Burns, 
too,  though  the  son  of  a  peasant,  was  the  son  of  a  well- 
read  man  ;  and  was  himself  a  close  student  of  books,  and 
especially  of  verse  as  an  art. 

Not  much  space  is  needed  in  which  to  show  that  the 
same  recognition  by  the  world  of  the  value  of  that  which 
makes  for  the  betterment  of  humanity  is  exemplified  in 
the  welcome  which  it  gives  to  products  of  all  the  other 
arts.  Think  how  large  a  proportion  of  the  painters, 
sculptors,  and  architects  whose  names  are  remembered 
have  painted  altar-pieces,  or  decorated  chapels,  or  mod- 
elled statues  of  gods  or  heroes,  or  erected  temples,  cathe- 
drals, or  mosques  !  And  then  think  how  small  a  proportion 
of  those  who  have  never  done  work  of  this  character  are 
remembered.  Is  there  one  who  has  attained  the  highest 
rank?  If  so, it  is  not  Pheidias, nor  Praxiteles,  nor  Raphael, 
nor  Titian,  nor  Rubens,  nor  Angelo,  nor  Brunelleschi. 


THE    RELIGIOUS  IJ\r  ART.  267 

Who  is  it?  Undoubtedly,  here  and  there,  one,  in  more 
recent  times.  But  there  ^are^not  a  sufficient  number  in 
any  age  to  prove  that  a  religious,  ethical,  or  distinctly  sci- 
entific phase  of  sentiment  is  prejudicial  to  artistic  suc- 
cess. What  is  prejudicial  to  this  is  the  supposition  that 
poetry  or  any  art  can  be  at  its  best  when  the  mind  that  pro- 
duces it  is  devoid  of  moral  purpose  or  mental  information. 
The  highest  result,  as  art  is,  of  human  intelligence  and  skill, 
it  cannot  be  produced  when  only  part  of  the  highest  possi- 
bilities of  manhood  are  engaged  upon  it.  It  needs  all  the 
resources  that  a  man  can  command,  as  well  as  all  the 
facility  that  he  can  acquire  through  the  education  that 
enables  him  to  command  them. 

The  theory  that  considers  the  objective  result  of  the 
artistic  tendency,  so  far  as  it  is  affected  by  physical  con- 
ditions such  as  temperament  and  personality,  to  be  senti- 
ment, experienced  within  and  communicated  to  others, 
is  not  materially  imperilled  by  the  arguments  advanced 
by  those  who  claim  that  its  aim  is  pleasure.  Mr.  Dallas  in 
his  "Gay  Science"  holds  this  theory,  and  moulds  all  con- 
tradictory facts  to  fit  it.  If  some  one  remind  him  that 
the  drama  often  gives  pain,  his  theory  tells  him  that  pain 
is  only  one  development  of  pleasure  ;  if  another  argue  that 
the  highest  art,  the  grandest  poem  or  picture,  gives  less 
enjoyment  than  the  current  novel  or  than  the  caricature 
at  which  we  laugh  until  we  cry,  then  his  theory  tells  him 
that  we  cannot  measure  pleasure  by  our  consciousness  of 
it.  Nay,  he  even  argues  that  the  highest  pleasure  is 
annihilation, — identical  with  the  anticipated  hell  of  the 
Second  Adventist. 

There  scarcely  seems  to  be  occasion  for  a  theory  lead- 
ing to  inferences  like  these.  If  the  phases  of  expression 
which  we  find  in  art,  and  which  depend  on  such  con- 


268      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

ditions  as  physical  temperament  and  personality,  be 
recognized  to  involve  the  experience  and  consequent 
communication  of  sentiment, — a  term  implying  thought 
as  prompted  by  emotion — i.  e.,  an  intense  degree  of  ac- 
tivity of  both  thought  and  emotion, — then  it  seems  logi- 
cal to  recognize  also  that  very  often  art  must  impart  great 
pleasure.  For  of  what  is  pleasure  a  result,  if  not  of  ac- 
tivity that  is  unconscious  of  control?  Knowledge  limits 
both  our  feeling  and  our  thought,  but,  in  the  degree  in 
which  we  are  indulging  in  sentiment,  the  limits  are  re- 
moved, and  we  are  left  free  to  feel  and  to  imagine  what 
we  choose.  From  its  very  nature,  therefore,  sentiment 
implies  a  certain  degree  of  pleasure.  And  yet,  so  far  as 
derivable  from  sentiment,  this  pleasure  results  from  con- 
scious freedom  so  far  only  as  effects  are  experienced  in 
the  intellect.  For  this  reason,  the  highest  degree  of 
pleasure  that  can  be  derived  from  sentiment  may  be  less 
intense,  in  the  sense  of  making  us  less  conscious  of  an 
appeal  to  the  nervous  system,  than  that  derived  from 
freedom,  the  effects  of  which  are  experienced  in  the  body 
alone.  In  other  words,  it  is  possible  that  we  may  derive 
less  acute  enjoyment  from  mental  than  from  physical 
pleasure.  For  the  same  reason  also,  when  a  work  of  art 
enlists  our  sympathy  with  the  suffering  and  the  fallen,  and, 
in  the  degree  of  the  breadth  of  our  culture,  with  more 
subtle  phases  of  human  weakness  and  wretchedness,  the 
consciousness  which  we  often  have,  that  no  material,  or, 
so  to  speak,  bodily  effort  of  ours  can  avert  troubles  of  this 
kind,  imparts  to  the  freedom  even  of  sentiment  a  limitation 
that  results  in  the  effect  of  pathos  or  of  horror.  To  say, 
therefore,  that  the  objective  result  of  the  artistic  tendency, 
as  affected  by  the  physical  conditions  underlying  tempera- 
ment and  personality,  is  sentiment,  enables  us  to  give  full 


PLEASURE  IN    THE   AIM   OF  ART.  269 

recognition  to  whatever  truth  there  may  be  in  the  argu- 
ments of  those  who  claim  that  the  aim  of  art  is  pleasure; 
and  it  enables  us  also,  at  the  same  time,  to  explain  satis- 
factorily, as  these  arguers  do  not,  both  why  other  things 
sometimes  afford  more  pleasure  than  art  and  why  art 
itself  sometimes,  as  in  the  pathetic  and  the  tragic,  includes 
the  painful. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ARTISTIC    SIGNIFICANCE    AS    CHARACTERIZED    BY    RELI- 
GIOUS,   SCIENTIFIC,   OR   DISTINCTIVELY  ARTISTIC   TEN- 
DENCIES :      THE      GOOD,      THE      TRUE,      AND      THE 
BEAUTIFUL;    THE   SUBLIME,    THE   PICTURESQUE, 
AND  THE    BRILLIANT  ;    THE   GRAND,   THE   SIM- 
PLE, AND  THE  STRIKING  ;   THE  HORRIBLE, 
THE   PATHETIC,   AND   THE   VIOLENT. 

Three  Artistic  Tendencies,  Religious,  Scientific,  and  Artistic — The  First 
Leading  to  Instinctive  Subjective  Idealism  ;  the  Second  to  Reflective 
Relative  Realism  ;  and  the  Third  to  Emotive  Objective  Idealized 
Realism — Some  Tendencies  as  Developed  into  the  Good,  the  True, 
and  the  Beautiful,  etc. — The  Same  as  Differently  Developed  in  Serious 
and  in  Playful  Conditions — The  Good,  the  True,  the  Beautiful — The 
Sublime,  Definitions  of — With  Illustrations  from  Milton — Michael 
Angelo — Coleridge — Shakespeare — The  Bible — Other  Definitions — The 
Picturesque — Illustrations — Explanations — The  Brilliant — Illustrations 
— The  Brilliant  and  the  Beautiful — The  Former  Distinctively  a  Devel- 
opment of  the  Latter — Why  the  Brilliant  rather  than  the  Beautiful 
should  be  Contrasted  with  the  Sublime — Indefiniteness  of  Definitions 
of  this — Resulting  Effects  of  these  Tendencies  are  the  Grand,  the 
Simple — The  Striking — Serious  Developments  of  these  in  the  Horrible 
—  The  Pathetic — And  the  Violent — All  these  Tendencies  Manifested  in 
all  the  Arts. 

"\1  rE  have  now  considered  all  that  it  seems  necessary 
to  notice  with  reference  to  artistic  significance 
as  determined  by  its  derivation  from  material  nature  and 
from  the  human  mind.  In  this  and  the  following  chapter, 
we  shall  consider  the  character  of  this  significance,  and 
from  Chapter  XVIII.  to  the  end  of  the  book,  we  shall 

270 


CHARACTERISTICS   OF  ART-SIGNIFICANCE.         2/1 

consider  its  expressional  results  as  manifested  in  forms 
fitted  or  not  fitted  to  represent  the  phases  of  thought  or 
emotion  intended. 

According  to  what  was  said  in  Chapters  VII.  to  XII., 
there  are  three  different  general  methods  of  forming  con- 
ceptions :  the  religious,  in  which  subconscious  intellection 
is  supreme  ;  the  scientific,  in  which  conscious  intellection  is 
supreme ;  and  the  artistic,  in  which  sometimes  the  sub- 
conscious is  supreme,  sometimes  the  conscious,  and  some- 
times neither,  because  the  effect  of  the  one  exactly 
balances  that  of  the  other.  This  is  the  same  as  to  say 
that  in  artistic  significance  at  times  that  tendency  which 
is  characteristic  of  the  religious  may  be  the  most  promi- 
nent ;  and,  at  other  times,  that  tendency  which  is  charac- 
teristic of  the  scientific;  and,  therefore,  that,  aside  from 
the  tendency  which,  as  characteristic  of  an  even  balance 
between  the  two  forms  of  intellection,  is  in  the  highest 
sense  artistic,  two  other  tendencies  may  also  be  artistic, 
one  of  which,  without  crossing  the  boundaries  of  art,  in- 
clines, nevertheless,  toward  religion  ;  and  the  other  toward 
science. 

Here  then,  in  analogy  with  all  that  has  been  said 
hitherto,  we  have  suggested  three  divisions  of  artistic 
significance.  They  may  be  termed  respectively  the  reli- 
gious-artistic, the  scientific-artistic,  and  the  artistic-artistic. 
Religious-artistic  significance  is  that  which  is  the  most 
nearly  conformable  to  the  results  of  what  is  termed 
inspiration,  hence  the  most  nearly  conditioned  by  the 
infinite,  the  eternal,  and  the  absolute  sources  of  influence 
at  work  behind  material  appearances.  Scientific-artistic 
significance  is  that  which  is  the  most  nearly  conformable 
to  the  results  of  investigation  ;  hence  the  most  nearly  con- 
ditioned by  a  man's  finite,  temporal,  and  concrete  sur- 


272      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

roundings  ;  and,  in  the  degree  in  which  this  significance 
is,  in  the  highest  sense,  scientific,  it  involves  an  extremely 
accurate  reproduction  of  these.  Artistic-artistic  signifi- 
cance is  that  which  is  the  most  nearly  conformable  to  the 
results  of  imagination,  and  imagination  is  conditioned 
partly  by  inspiration,  and  partly  by  investigation.  The 
artistic-artistic  tendency,  therefore,  is  conditioned  by  a 
combination  of  the  two  other  tendencies. 

All  three  are  termed  tendencies,  because  they  refer  to 
the  significance,  or  subject-matter  of  art,  as  it  manifests 
itself  during  the  process  of  passing  into  form,  i.  e.,  to 
significance  when  existing  not  in  and  for  itself  but  when 
moving  toward,  into,  and  through  outward  representation. 
In  Chapter  III.  of  "  Art  in  Theory,"  significance — often 
termed  subject-matter — and  form  were  said  to  be  the  two 
factors  entering  into  what  we  mean  by  expression,  and 
the  necessity  was  pointed  out  of  ascribing  due  importance 
to  each.  In  strict  accordance  with  this  general  thought, 
let  us  notice,  now,  how  the  different  emphasis  given  to 
significance  or  to  form  manifests  itself  in  the  expression 
of  the  three  tendencies  that  we  are  to  consider.  We 
shall  find  the  three  respectively  giving  rise  to  three  differ- 
ent classes  of  expressional  results.  These  are  apparently 
produced,  in  the  first  class,  from  behind  the  form  ;  in  the 
second,  in  the  form  ;  and  in  the  third,  through,  with,  or 
by  the  form.  *As  related  to  the  mind,  from  which  it  is 
derived,  religious-artistic  expression,  which  is  that  of  the 
first  class,  seems  to  be  the  most  instinctive,  the  most  spon- 
taneous, the  most  free  from  any  conscious  endeavor  to 
limit  or  fit  the  subject-matter  to  the  form  of  representa- 
tion. Scientific-artistic  expression,  which  is  that  of  the 
second  class,  seems  to  be  the  most  reflective,  the  most 
calculating,  the  most  under  the  influence  of  that  which 


CHARACTERISTICS   OF  ART-SIGNIFICANCE.         2?$ 

would  accurately  measure  the  subject-matter  and  accom- 
modate it  to  the  form.  But  in  artistic-artistic  expression, 
which  is  that  of  the  third  class,  the  instinctive  seems  to 
have  been  influenced  by  the  reflective,  and  yet  to  have  also 
controlled  it,  causing  the  subject-matter  instinctively,  as  it 
were,  to  force  its  way  through  the  limitations  reflectively 
given  to  the  form,  and — so  to  speak — to  transfigure  it. 
This  condition  accords  with  what  was  brought  out  on  page 
210  of  Chapter  XIII. ,  where  it  was  said  that  the  distinct- 
ively artistic  is  neither  solely  instinctive  nor  solely  reflect- 
ive, but  a  result  of  the  blending  of  the  two,  and,  therefore, 
is  what  may  be  termed  emotive.  Again,  religious-artistic 
expression,  as  it  emphasizes  the  source  of  significance,  or 
the  thing  signified,  i.  e.,  the  subject-matter,  may  be  char- 
acterized as  subjective  ;  scientific-artistic  expression,  as  it 
emphasizes  the  relations  between  the  thing  signified  and 
the  form  signifying,  may  be  termed  relative  ;  and  artistic- 
artistic  expression,  as  it  emphasizes  the  form  signifying, 
i.  e.,  the  object  toward  which  the  use  of  the  significance 
is  directed,  may  be  characterized  as  objective.  Once  more, 
the  first  tendency,  in  conforming  the  representation  to 
the  idea  within,  naturally  gives  expression  to  that  which 
is  known  as  idealism;  the  second,  in  conforming  the  re- 
presentation to  the  real  conditions  without,  naturally  gives 
expression  to  realism ;  and  the  third,  in  conforming  the 
representation  to  the  blending  of  these  two  other  tenden- 
cies, naturally  gives  expression  to  that  idealized  realism 
which  is  the  chief  quality,  as  will  be  shown  presently,  of 
the  dramatic,  when  a  contrast  is  indicated  between  it  and 
the  epic.  What  has  been  said  thus  far  may  be  summar- 
ized thus  ;  and  some  may  be  interested  in  noticing  here 
the  same  terms  and  arrangements  of  them  as  are  used  on 
page  243  of  "  Art  in  Theory  " : 


274      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

Significance  in  Representative  Form  according  as  its  Tendency  is 


Religious, 

Instinctive, 

' 

Subjective, 

_g 

Idealism, 

a 

o 

»• 

jg 

Scientific, 

"rt 

;> 

Reflective, 

1 

Relative, 

1 

Realism,, 

« 

'5  * 

1    < 

„ 

CX,     v 

x 

or 

I 

or 

1 

£ 

or 

W 

t/5 

or 

T3 

Idealized1 

Artistic 

.2 

Emotive 

. 

Objective 

C 

cd 

Realism. 

These  respective  tendencies  thus  distinguished  will 
enable  us  to  classify,  and,  sufficiently  for  our  purpose,  to 
define  certain  terms  with  which  every  one  is  more  or  less 
familiar.  The  first  three  of  these  terms,  all  of  which  seem 
to  be  determined  chiefly  by  the  relation  of  the  result  to 
the  religious  or  spiritual  tendency,  because  they  are 
mainly  attributable  to  the  source  or  subject-matter  of 
the  expression,  are  the  good,  allied  to  the  religious ;  the 
true,  allied  to  the  scientific ;  and  the  beautiful,  allied  to 
the  artistic.  The  second  three,  all  of  which  seem  to  be 
determined  chiefly  by  the  relation  of  the  result  to  the 
scientific  tendency,  because  they  are  mainly  attributable 
to  the  nature  of  the  expression  when  the  subject-matter 
comes  in  contact  with  form,  are  the  sublime,  allied  to  the 
religious  ;  the  picturesque,  allied  to  the  scientific  ;  and  the 
brilliant,  allied  to  the  artistic.  The  third  three  terms, 
all  of  which  seem  to  be  determined  chiefly  by  the  relation 
of  the  effect  to  the  artistic  tendency,  because  they  are 
mainly  attributable  to  the  expressional  result  when  the 
subject-matter  has  passed  through  the  form  and  is  exert- 
ing an  influence  on  the  man  who  contemplates  it,  are  the 
grand,  allied  to  the  religious ;  the  simple — called  thus  be- 
cause not  elaborated  or  changed  essentially  from  the  con- 
dition in  which  it  is  presented  in  nature — which  is  allied 
to  the  scientific ;  and  the  striking,  allied  to  the  artistic. 


THE    GOOD,    TRUE,    BEAUTIFUL.       .  2?$ 

Before  all  the  possibilities  of  these  last  three  effects 
can  be  understood,  it  is  necessary  to  consider  them  as 
modified  by  the  fact,  brought  out  in  Chapter  XV.,  that  art 
is  the  expression  not  merely  of  thought,  but  of  sentiment, 
which  is  thought  under  the  influence  of  emotion.  There- 
fore the  grand,  the  simple,  and  the  striking  must  not  be 
considered  as  mere  intellectual  conceptions,  but  as  ten- 
dencies susceptible  of  being  modified  by  different  degrees 
and  kinds  of  emotion.  Emotion,  as  we  know,  may  be 
serious,  as  when  one  is  conscious  of  dealing  with  matters 
of  importance  ;  or  playful,  as  when  he  is  not  conscious  of 
this;  and,  in  either  case,  the  emotion  may  affect  one 
pleasurably  or  not  pleasurably.  If  the  three  forms  of  ex- 
pression, while  continuing  to  manifest  serious  emotions, 
be  affected  in  the  direction  of  the  non-pleasurable,  they 
are  turned  respectively  into  the  horrible,  \.\\z  pathetic,  and 
the  violent ;  if,  instead  of  manifesting  serious  emotions, 
they  manifest,  in  ways  to  be  indicated  in  Chapter  XVII., 
playful  influences,  then,  in  the  direction  of  the  pleasura- 
ble, the  three  become,  respectively,  the  burlesque,  the 
ludicrous,  and  the  ridiculous,  etc. ;  or,  if  affected  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  non-pleasurable,  they  have  the  effect  of 
caricature,  of  satire,  and  of  sarcasm. 

Now  let  us  try  to  understand  the  differing  conditions 
that  lead  to  these  different  results.  What  was  said  on 
page  274  with  reference  to  the  first  three  terms  need  de- 
tain us  only  a  moment.  None  will  have  difficulty  in 
recognizing  the  reason  why  the  subject-matter  of  religious- 
artistic  expression  should  be  termed  distinctively  the  good ; 
or  why  the  subject-matter  of  scientific-artistic  expression, 
which  is  concerned  chiefly  in  causing  the  forms  of  art 
to  be  accurate  representations  of  the  forms  or  laws  of  na- 
ture, should  be  termed  distinctively  the  true  ;  or  why  the 


276      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

subject-matter  of  artistic-artistic  expression,  as  the  very 
term  artistic  indicates,  should  be  termed  distinctively  the 
beautiful.  In  speaking  of  artistic  beauty,  Prof.  H.  N. 
Day,  whose  analysis,  in  his  "  Science  of  ^Esthetics,"  dif- 
fers in  other  regards  from  the  one  presented  here,  says : 
"  It  contrasts  itself  at  once  with  those  two  kinds  of 
beauty  named,  one  of  which,  looking  more  at  the  idea," — 
corresponding  therefore  to  what  has  been  termed  here  the 
religious-artistic  tendency, — "we  have  called  ideal  beauty  ; 
the  other,  looking  more  at  the  matter  in  which  the  revela- 
tion is  effected," — corresponding  to  what  has  here  been 
called  the  scientific-artistic  tendency, — "  we  have  called 
material  beauty." 

Now  let  us  examine  the  terms  that  are  applicable  to  the 
character  of  the  expression  where  it  comes  in  contact 
with  form.  It  has  been  said  that  the  religious-artistic 
tendency  is  that  which  is  most  spiritual  and  intangible, 
the  most  nearly  allied  to  the  infinite,  eternal,  and  absolute 
essence  or  force  lying  behind  material  forms  supposed  to 
embody  it.  A  moment's  reflection  will  show  us  that  this 
same  tendency  can  always  be  affirmed  of  an  expression 
which  we  term  sublime.  The  sublime  conveys  an  impres- 
sion of  a  conception  too  disproportionately  large  to  be 
distinctly  embodied  in  a  material  form  or  even  to  be  en- 
tirely grasped  by  human  apprehension.  Here,  for  in- 
stance, is  Milton's  celebrated  description  of  Satan,  so 
often  used  as  an  illustration  of  this  sentiment : 

He  above  the  rest, 

In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 
Stood  like  a  tower  ;  his  form  had  not  yet  lost 
All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appeared 
Less  than  arch-angel  ruined,  and  the  excess 
Of  glory  obscured  ;  as  when  the  sun,  new  risen, 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air, 


THE   SUBLIME.  2/7 

Shorn  of  his  beams  ;  or  from  behind  the  moon 
In  dim  eclipse  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations  ;  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs. 

Pardise  Lost,  i. 

This  is  sublimity.  And  the  whole  character  of  Satan 
as  portrayed  by  Milton  is  sublime  •;  it  is  so,  for  one  reason, 
because  it  is  vague  and  intangible.  As  Burke  says  of  it, 
in  his  "  Essay  on  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful  "  :  "  The  mind 
is  hurried  out  of  itself  by  a  crowd  of  great  and  confused 
images,  which  affect  because  they  are  crowded  and  con- 
fused ;  for  separate  them,  and  you  lose  much  of  the 
greatness ;  and  join  them,  and  you  infallibly  lose  the 
clearness." 

The  same  vagueness  is  characteristic  of  Michael  An- 
gelo's  picture  of  "The  Last  Judgment,"  as  well  as  of 
his  statue  of  "  Moses,"  whose  colossal  proportions  and 
divine  brow  are  suggestive  of  far  more  spiritual  breadth 
of  force  than  can  fitly  be  contracted  within  the  limits  of  a 
human  figure.  Kant,  in  his  "  Critique  of  Judgment," 
says  that  the  effect  of  the  sublime  is  owing  to  "  the  in- 
ability of  our  imagination  to  grasp  the  totality  of  certain 
natural  grandeur," — a  difficulty  which  will  exactly  explain 
the  impression  conveyed  by  the  following : 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star 

In  his  steep  course  ?     So  long  he  seems  to  pause 

On  thy  baid  awful  head,  O  sovereign  Blanc  ! 

The  Arve  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 

Rave  ceaselessly,  but  thou,  most  awful  Form  ! 

Risest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines, 

How  silently  !    Around  thee  and  above, 

Deep  is  the  air  and  dark,  substantial,  black, 

An  ebon  mass.     Methinks  thou  piercest  it, 

As  with  a  wedge  !     But  when  I  look  again, 

It  is  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine, 


2/8      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

Thy  habitation  from  eternity  ! 

0  dread  and  silent  Mount !    I  gazed  upon  thee, 
Till  thou,  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense, 

Didst  vanish  from  my  thought ;  entranced  in  prayer, 

1  worshipped  the  Invisible  alone. 

Hymn  before  Dawn  in  the  Vale  of  Chamouni  :   Coleridge. 

Jouffroy,  in  his  "  Coursd'Esthetique,"  distinguishes  the 
sublime  from  the  agreeable.  He  says  that  in  the  latter, 
the  pleasure  is  "  less  grand,  but  pure  ;  in  the  sublime,  more 
lively,  but  mixed  " ;  and  what  he  means  by  mixed,  he 
explains  by  stating  that,  connected  with  it,  is  an  impres- 
sion of  fear  (see  page  287),  of  inferiority,  of  humiliation, 
and  an  idea  or  hope  of  infinity.  Chaignet,  in  his  "  Les 
Principes  de  la  Science  du  Beau,"  terms  the  sublime  "  the 
highest  degree  of  energy  or  of  grandeur  of  aesthetic  ideas 
revealed  in  objects."  The  sublimity  in  the  following 
would  correspond  to  the  requirements  of  both  Jouffroy 
and  Chaignet : 

If  thou  dost  slander  her  and  torture  me, 

Never  pray  more  ;  abandon  all  remorse  ; 

On  horror's  head  horrors  accumulate, 

Do  deeds  to  make  heaven  weep,  all  earth  amazed, 

For  nothing  canst  thou  to  damnation  add 

Greater  than  that. 

Othello,  Hi.,  3  :  Shakespeare, 

Arise,  black  vengeance,  from  thy  hollow  cell  ! 
Yield  up,  O  love,  thy  crown  and  hearted  throne 
To  tyrannous  hate  !  swell  bosom  with  thy  fraught, 
For  't  is  of  aspic's  tongues ! 

Idem. 

Burke,  in  his  "Sublime  and  Beautiful,"  like  Kant  in 
his  "  Critique  of  Judgment,"  makes  the  sublime  differ 
from  the  beautiful  by  terming  the  latter  a  mode  of  pleas- 
ure, and  the  former  a  mode  of  pain.  "Astonishment," 


THE   SUBLIME.  2/9 

he  says,  Pt.  II.,  Sec.  I,  "is  the  effect  of  the  sublime  in  its 
highest  degree ;  the  inferior  effects  are  admiration,  rev- 
erence, and  respect."  He  then  shows  the  relation  of 
sublimity  to  such  elements  as  terror,  obscurity,  power, 
vastfiess,  and  infinity.  ''A  clear  idea,"  he  affirms,  Pt. 
II.,  Sec.  5,  "  is  another  name  for  a  little  idea.  There  is  a 
passage  in  the  Book  of  Job  amazingly  sublime,  and  this 
sublimity  is  principally  due  to  the  terrible  uncertainty  of 
the  thing  described  :  '  In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  the 
night,  when  deep  sleep  falleth  upon  men,  fear  came  upon 
me  and  trembling  which  made  all  my  bones  to  shake. 
Then  a  spirit  passed  before  my  face.  The  hair  of  my 
flesh  stood  up.  It  stood  still,  but  I  could  not  discern  the 
form  thereof :  an  image  was  before  mine  eyes  ;  there  was 
silence  ;  and  I  heard  a  voice,  saying,  Shall  mortal  man  be 
more  just  than  God  ?  '  '  (Job  iv  :  13-17.)  "  We  are  first 
prepared  with  the  utmost  solemnity,"  Burke  goes  on  to 
say,  "  for  the  vision  ;  we  are  first  terrified  before  we  are 
let  even  into  the  obscure  cause  of  our  emotion  ;  but  when 
this  grand  cause  of  terror  makes  its  appearance,  what  is  it? 
Is  it  not  wrapped  up  in  the  shades  of  its  own  incompre- 
hensible darkness,  more  awful,  more  striking,  more  terrible, 
than  the  liveliest  description,  than  the  clearest  painting, 
could  possibly  represent  it  ?  " 

In  his  "  Lectures  on  Metaphysics,"  Sir  William  Hamil- 
ton, following  in  the  footsteps  of  Burke,  says :  "  Our  feel- 
ing of  sublimity  is  a  mingled  one  of  pleasure  and  pain — 
of  pleasure  in  the  consciousness  of  the  strong  energy,  of 
pain  in  the  consciousness  that  this  energy  is  vain.  But  as 
the  amount  of  pleasure  in  the  sublime  is  greater  than  the 
amount  of  pain,  it  follows  that  the  free  energy  that  it 
elicits  must  be  greater  than  the  free  energy  that  it  repels. 
Sublimity  .  .  .  requires  magnitude  as  its 


28O      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

condition  ;  and  the  formless  is  not  infrequently  sublime."" 
"  In  this  species  of  beauty,"  says  Professor  Day,  in  his 
"  Science  of  ^Esthetics,"  "  the  idea  asserts  its  superiority 
over  form,  spirit  over  matter ;  the  idea  overmasters  the 
form,  breaks  through  it,  as  it  were,  and  stands  forth  in  the 
majesty  of  its  own  divine  unparticipating  nature.  It  is 
that  kind  which  is  familiarly  recognized  as  the  sublime." 
"  Duration,  magnitude,  any  beautiful  expression  which 
enlarges  and  overpowers  the  mind  in  its  apprehension,  may 
become  sublime,"  says  Bascom,  in  his  "  Science  of  Beauty." 
After  these  quotations,  few  will  doubt,  as  soon  as  they 
understand  what  is  meant  in  this  chapter  by  the  religious- 
artistic  tendency  of  expression,  that  this  is  the  tendency 
giving  rise  to  the  effect  of  sublimity. 

When  the  subject  of  artistic  conception  becomes  en- 
tirely comprehensible  and  tangible,  it  passes  to  the  method 
of  expression  which  has  been  termed  scientific-artistic. 
Science  deals  with  facts  as  they  are  ;  and  the  scientific 
tendency  in  art  represents  thoughts,  sights,  or  events  with 
literal  fidelity.  It  does  not  labor  to  rearrange  them  so  as 
to  make  them  conform  to  some  ideal  standard  either  in 
the  mind  or  out  of  it.  When  we  come  to  consider  his- 
toric or  realistic  art,  many  illustrations  of  this  tendency 
will  be  given.  The  ancient  ballads,  as  well  as  modern 
poetry,  are  full  of  them  ;  so  also  are  historic  paintings  and 
sculpture  and  even  architecture  and  music.  At  present,  it  is 
only  necessary  to  say  that  all  these  products  manifest  more 
or  less  of  what  is  termed  t\\e  picturesque.  Concerning  this 
quality,  Sir  William  Hamilton  in  his  "  Lectures  on  Meta- 
physics" says  :  "  Variety,  even  apart  from  unity,  is  pleas- 
ing ;  and  if  the  mind  be  made  content  to  expatiate  freely 
and  easily  in  this  variety  without  attempting  painfully  to 
reduce  it  to  unity,  it  will  derive  no  inconsiderable  pleasure 


THE  PICTURESQUE.  28 1 

from  the  exertion   of  its  powers.     Now  the  picturesque 
object  is  precisely  of  such  a  character." 

The  following,  for  instance,  is  picturesque  ;  and  if  it 
were  represented  in  a  painting,  or  in  architecture,  as  it 
might  easily  be,  it  would,  of  course,  furnish  an  illustration 
of  the  picturesque  in  these  arts  also  : 

And  me  that  morning  Walter  showed  the  house, 
Greek,  set  with  busts  ;  from  vases  in  the  hall 
Flowers  of  all  heavens,  and  lovelier  than  their  names, 
Grew  side  by  side  ;  and  on  the  pavement  lay 
Carved  stones  of  the  abbey-ruin  in  the  park, 
Huge  Ammonites,  and  the  first  bones  of  Time. 
And  on  the  tables  every  clime  and  age 
Jumbled  together ;  celts  and  calumets 
Claymore  and  snow-shoe,  toys  in  lava,  fans 
Of  sandal,  amber,  ancient  rosaries, 
Laborious  Orient  ivory,  sphere  in  sphere, 
The  cursed  Malayan  crease,  and  battle-clubs 
From  the  isles  of  palm  ;  and  higher  on  the  walls, 
Betwixt  the  monstrous  horns  of  elk  and  deer, 
His  own  forefathers'  arms  and  armor  hung. 

7" he  Princess  :    Tennyson. 

The  following,  too,  is  picturesque,  but  less  decidedly  so 
than  is  the  preceding;  because  one  feels,  all  the  way 
through,  that  the  artist  is  trying  to  give  form  to  the  variety 
which  he  describes  and  to  do  this  by  bringing  all  things 
into  harmony,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  into  unity  with 
the  sentiment  controlling  his  own  spirit.  The  tendency  of 
this  passage  therefore  is  in  the  direction  of  what  we  shall 
presently  find  to  be  characteristic  of  the  brilliant. 

All  the  land  in  flowery  squares, 
Beneath  a  broad  and  equal  blowing  wind, 
Smelt  of  the  coming  summer,  as  one  large  cloud 
Drew  downward  ;  but  all  else  of  heaven  was  pure 
Up  to  the  sun,  and  May  from  verge  to  verge, 
And  May  with  me  from  head  to  heel.     And  now, 


282      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

As  tho'  't  were  yesterday,  as  tho'  it  were 

The  hour  just  flown,  that  morn  with  all  its  sound, 

(For  those  old  Mays  had  thrice  the  life  of  these) 

Rings  in  mine  ears.     The  steer  forgot  to  graze, 

And,  where  the  hedgerow  cuts  the  pathway,  stood, 

Leaning  his  horns  into  the  neighbor  field, 

And  lowing  to  his  fellows.     From  the  woods 

Came  voices  of  the  well  contented  doves. 

The  lark  could  scarce  get  out  his  notes  for  joy, 

But  shook  his  song  together  as  he  neared 

His  happy  home  the  ground. 

The  Gardener  s  Daughter  :    Tennyson. 

When  the  subject  of  conception  comes  to  be  expressed 
in  form  the  artistic  impulse  is  sometimes  so  strong  as 
virtually  to  transfigure  the  form.  This  condition  gives 
rise  to  the  brilliant.  In  the  sublime,  that  which  is  repre- 
sented seems  too  large  or  grand  for  the  form;  in  the  pic- 
turesque, it  seems  exactly  reproduced  in  the  form;  in  the 
brilliant,  it  seems  enhanced  in  value  by  the  form.  The 
effect  in  the  last  case  is  like  that  of  placing  a  lens  before  a 
picture,  or  what  this  effect  would  be  if  the  lens  were  a  pre- 
cious jewel.  The  brilliant  is  characterized  therefore  by 
the  opposite  of  vagueness,  i.  e.,  by  luminosity,  by  a  lumin- 
osity, too,  which  gives  not  only  light,  shade,  and  color,  but 
outlines  also  that  often  seem  greatly  magnified.  Of  course, 
in  the  brilliant,  the  subject-matter  may  be  of  importance, 
but  this  is  not  necessary.  The  following  passages  all 
derive  their  artistic  value  from  subordinate  considerations 
added  to  the  principal  subject-matter  in  order  to  enhance 
the  brilliancy  of  the  presentation  : 

I  saw  young  Harry, — with  his  beaver  on, 
His  cuisses  on  his  thighs,  gallantly  arm'd, — 
Rise  from  the  ground  like  feather's  Mercury, 
And  vaulted  \vith  such  ease  into  his  seat, 
As  if  an  angel  dropp'd  down  from  the  clouds, 


THE   BRILLIANT.  283 

i 

To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pegasus, 

And  witch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship. 

I  Henry  IV.,  iv.,  I  :   Shakespeare. 

The  fiery  Tybalt  with  his  sword  prepared  ; 
Which,  as  he  breathed  defiance  to  my  ears, 
He  swung  about  his  head,  and  cut  the  winds, 
Who,  nothing  hurt  withal,  hissed  him  in  scorn. 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  i. ,  i  :  Idem. 

O  my  soul's  joy  ! 

If  after  every  tempest  come  such  calms, 
May  the  winds  blow  till  they  have  wakened  death  ! 
And  let  the  laboring  bark  climb  hills  of  seas 
Olympus  high,  and  duck  again  as  low 
As  hell  's  from  heaven  ! 

Othello,  it. ,  i  :  Idem. 

Or  take  the  following  description  of  scenery  which  it 
will  be  profitable  to  contrast  with  the  examples  of  the 
picturesque  quoted  above,  especially  with  the  last  of  them 
in  connection  with  what  was  said  about  it : 

And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days  ; 
Then  heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays  : 
Whether  we  look  or  whether  we  listen, 
WTe  hear  life  murmur  or  see  it  glisten  ; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  about  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers  ; 
The  flush  of  life  may  well  be  seen 

Thrilling  back  over  hills  and  valleys  ; 
The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  green, 

The  butter-cup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chalice, 
And  there  's  never  a  leaf  or  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace  ; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 


284      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives  ; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 
And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and  sings  ; 
He  sings  to  the  wide  world  and  she  to  her  nest, — 
In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best  ? 

The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal :   J.  R.  Lowell. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Kant,  Burke,  and  Hamilton 
make  a  distinction  between  the  sublime  and  the  beautiful. 
"The  beautiful  has  reference  to  the  form  of  an  object," 
says  the  latter,  "  whereas  the  formless  is  not  infrequently 
sublime."  It  is  in  accordance  with  this  idea  that  the  sub- 
lime has  just  been  termed  a  development  of  the  religious- 
artistic  tendency  rather  than  of  the  artistic-artistic,  where 
we  must  place  the  brilliant.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  im- 
portant to  notice  that  the  classification  that  is  made  here  is 
less  one  of  division  than  of  development.  Every  preced- 
ing division  is  more  or  less  inclusive  of  that  which  follows. 
The  good,  for  instance,  the  subjective  impulse,  not  only 
precedes  but  includes  the  true  ;  and  the  true,  the  beauti- 
ful;  and  the  beautiful,  the  sublime,  etc. 

But,  at  the  same  time,  the  distinctive  effect  of  beauty, 
i.  e.,  of  beauty  when  least  influenced  by  considerations 
drawn  from  goodness  and  truth,  is  brilliancy.  It  is  by 
the  term  brilliant  that  the  excellence  of  a  poem  or  an  ora- 
tion that  manifests  the  least  possible  influence  of  motives 
drawn  from  goodness  or  truth,  and  yet  is  artistically 
beautiful,  is  best  characterized.  When  we  say  that  a  poet 
or  an  orator  is  distinctively  brilliant,  we  indicate  that,  while 
he  may  have  those  qualities  fitted  to  obtain  success  in  the 
realm  of  beauty,  he  may  lack  others  that  render  one  good 
and  truthful;  and  for  the  same  reason  we  imply — and 
those  who  hear  us  infer — that  his  productions  are  seldom 
distinctively  sublime  or  grand.  They  are  simply,  so  far  as 


THE    SUBLIME   AND    THE   BEAUTIFUL.  285 

he  gives  accurate  expression  to  his  own  character,  brilliant 
and  striking. 

By  classifying  the  brilliant  rather  than  the  beautiful  as 
the  objective  tendency  of  the  same  impulse  that,  subjec- 
tively considered,  causes  the  sublime,  one  escapes  from 
such  a  criticism  as  is  made,  for  instance,  by  Chaignet  in 
his  "  Les  Principes  de  la  Science  du  Beau  "  upon  the 
inclination  manifested  by  most  writers  to  separate  the 
sublime  altogether  from  the  beautiful.  "  On  the  con- 
trary," he  argues,  as  has  been  done  in  this  chapter,  "  the 
sublime  is  only  one  department  or  phase  of  the  beautiful ; 
otherwise  there  would  be  no  place  at  all  for  the  sublime 
in  art,  inasmuch  as  art  is  no  more  nor  no  less  than  the 
expression  of  beauty."  To  this  he  might  have  added 
that  probably  no  instance  can  be  cited,  from  either  art  or 
nature,  in  which  a  sublime  effect  is  produced  otherwise 
than  in  connection  with  beauty.  Of  course,  beauty  is 
impossible  without  form  ;  and  Sir  William  Hamilton,  as 
just  quoted,  says  "  the  formless  is  not  infrequently  sub- 
lime." But  this  statement  is  not  true,  except  as  applied 
to  conception  ;  and  what  gives  us  this  conception  is  the 
suggestion  of  formlessness  conveyed  through  some  form 
which  is  constantly  representing  itself  as  inadequate  to  do 
justice  to  the  subject-matter.  Chaignet  instances,  too,  a 
very  striking  illustration  of  the  close  connection  be- 
tween the  sublime  and  the  beautiful,  in  three  successive 
quotations.  One  is  from  Jouffroy.  In  this,  in  order  to 
show  the  difference  between  the  effects  of  two  works  of 
art,  the  writer  says  that,  in  gazing  at  the  Apollo,  you 
recognize  that  you  experience  the  pleasure  of  the  beauti- 
ful ;  whereas  in  gazing  at  the  Laocoon,  "  you  experience 
the  emotions  of  the  sublime."  The  next  quotation  is 
from  Lessing,  who  declares  in  his  "  Laocoon  "  that  one 


286      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

experiences  the  sensation  of  beauty  in  that  statue ;  and 
the  third  is  from  Winckelmann,  who  says  in  his  "  History 
of  Ancient  Art  "  that  one  experiences  the  sensation  of 
the  sublime  in  the  face  of  the  Apollo.  When  doctors 
disagree  thus,  there  must  be  a  good  reason  for  it.  "  There- 
fore," argues  Chaignet,  "  the  sublime  is  not  different  from 
the  beautiful,  only  one  department  of  it." 

While  saying  this,  however,  Chaignet  seems  to  fail  to 
tell  us  completely  what  the  sublime  is.  According  to 
the  classifications  of  this  chapter,  it  will  be  seen  that  it  is 
a  result  of  the  beautiful  when  the  influence  of  this  is  most 
combined  with  that  of  the  invisible,  spiritual  force  behind 
the  form — i.  e.,  of  the  force  that  is  sovereign  over  our 
religious  nature  and  our  conscience,  and  whose  distinctive 
authority  is  exercised  when  it  impels  one  to  the  good. 
It  is  interesting  to  notice  how  closely  this  deduction, 
though  differently  derived,  corresponds  to  that  of  Kant 
when,  in  his  "Critique  of  Judgment,"  he  dwells  upon  a 
connection  between  a  man's  capacity  for  appreciating  the 
sublime  and  his  susceptibility  to  influence  exerted  through 
the  moral  feelings. 

The  impression  of  a  force  too  nearly  allied  to  what  is 
infinite,  eternal,  and  absolute  to  be  entirely  embodied  in  a 
material  form  necessarily  carries  with  it,  as  intimated  on 
page  278,  an  effect  of  the  grand.  This  is  so  evident  that 
we  pass  at  once  from  it  to  an  effect  correspondingly  pro- 
duced by  \.\\z  picturesque.  In  this,  as  we  have  found,  the 
subject-matter  is  not  too  great  for  the  expression.  The 
scenes  in  nature  are  left  very  much  as  one  finds  them. 
Of  course,  the  consequent  effect  neither  impresses  us  like 
the  sublime,  nor  moves  us  like  the  brilliant.  It  merely 
furnishes  enjoyment  akin  to  that  which  comes  from  the 
simplicity  of  nature  itself.  Therefore  it  has  been  termed 


THE   GRAND,    SIMPLE,   AND   STRIKING.  287 

here  the  simple.  See  illustrations  on  page  288.  Once 
more,  the  artistic-artistic  tendency,  or  the  brilliant,  has  an 
effect  which,  in  distinction  from  the  grand  or  the  simple, 
we  may  term  the  striking.  The  brilliant  not  only  attracts 
attention,  it  enforces  it.  In  the  sublime,  which  is  grand, 
we  have  a  repetition  of  spiritual  force  without  an  ade- 
quate medium  ;  in  the  picturesque,  which  is  simple,  we 
have  an  equilibrium  between  the  two  ;  in  the  brilliant, 
which  is  striking,  we  have  a  medium  that  is  almost  more 
than  adequate.  We  have  a  condition  in  which  what  was 
spiritual  has  found  transfiguration,  and  what  was  immate- 
rialized  force  has  found  weapons.  Notice  the  illustrations 
of  the  striking  on  page  289,  and  how  all  the  passages 
thrust  a  concrete  picture  before  the  imagination  from  the 
impression  produced  by  which  one  cannot  escape. 

A  very  few  words  will  serve  to  illustrate  what  was  said 
of  the  modifications  of  the  grand,  the  simple,  and  the  strik- 
ing when  the  emotion  tends  toward  the  non-pleasurable. 
In  considering  the  sublime,  we  have  already  found  many 
quotations,  as  on  pages  278-9,  which  justify  us  in  attrib- 
uting to  it  the  effects  not  only  of  the  grand  but  of  the 
form  of  the  terrible  which  includes  that  conception  of  over- 
whelming size  or  strength  which  is  the  source  of  the  feeling 
that  we  term  the  horrible.  Notice  again  the  quotations 
on  page  278  ;  also  the  following: 


What  may  this  mean 

That  thou,  dread  corse,  again,  in  complete  steel, 
Revisitest  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
Making  night  hideous  ;  and  we,  fools  of  nature, 
So  horridly  to  shake  our  disposition 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  reaches  of  our  souls  ? 
Say,  why  is  this  ? 

Hamlet,  i.,  4  :  Shakespeare. 


288      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

But  that  I  am  forbid 
To  tell  the  secrets  of  my  prison  house, 
I  could  a  tale  unfold,  whose  lightest  word 
Would  harrow  up  thy  soul  ;  freeze  thy  young  blood, 
Make  thy  two  eyes,  like  stars,  start  from  their  spheres, 
Thy  knotted  and  combined  locks  to  part, 
And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end, 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine  ! 

Hamlet,  i.,  5  :  Shakespeare. 

When  the  expression  represents  what  affects  the  emo- 
tions seriously  and  painfully,  yet  assumes  a  form  that  is 
almost  scientifically  true  to  the  facts,  and,  in  this  sense, 
picturesque  and  simple,  we  have  the  pathetic.  Its  charac- 
teristic feature,  as  a  mode  of  expression,  is  an  apparent 
lack  of  art,  of  all  attempt  to  exaggerate  or  to  embellish, 
or  to  do  anything  that  shall  interfere  with  accuracy,  and 
therefore  with  naturalness  of  effect.  There  is  in  it  not 
the  remotest  suggestion  either  of  the  sublime  or  the  grand 
or  of  the  brilliant  or  the  striking.  The  effect  is  the  same 
as  if  the  author  were  anxious  to  have  us  recognize  that 
the  facts  themselves  were  of  such  importance  as  to  need 
no  effort  of  his  own  to  increase  it.  Observe  the  phrase- 
ology in  these : 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 

Beside  the  springs  of  Dove  ; 
A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise, 

And  very  few  to  love. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be  ; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and  O 

The  difference  to  me  ! 

The  Lost  Love  :  Wordsworth. 

Touch  her  not  scornfully, 
Think  of  her  mournfully, 


THE    VIOLENT.  289 

Gently  and  humanly, — 
Not  of  the  stains  of  her  ; 
All  that  remains  of  her 
Now  is  pure  womanly. 

Alas  !  for  the  rarity 
Of  Christian  charity 
Under  the  sun  ! 
O  it  was  pitiful  ! 
Near  a  whole  city  full, 
Home  she  had  none. 

The  Bridge  of  Sighs  :  Hood. 

If  thou  tellest  the  heavy  story  right, 
Upon  my  soul,  the  hearers  will  shed  tears  ; 
Yea,  even  my  foes  will  shed  fast  falling  tears, 
And  say, — Alas,  it  was  a  piteous  deed  ! 

3  Henry  VI. ,  i. ,  4  :  Shakespeare, 

Once  more,  when,  instead  of  being  overawed  and  stilled 
as  in  horror,  one  is  stirred  as  in  the  violent  to  attack  and 
conquer  opposition,  there  is  only  one  form  of  expression 
that  can  fitly  represent  his  conditions.  Notice  it  in  the 
following — how  every  separate  word  flung  out  of  the  lips 
is  fitted,  by  the  very  brilliancy  of  the  language  in  a  most 
literal  sense,  to  strike  : 

The  devil  damn  thee  black,  thou  cream-faced  loon  ! 
Where  gottest  thou  that  goose-look  ? 

Macbeth,  v.,  j>  /  Shakespeare. 

She-wolf  of  France,  but  worse  than  wolves  of  France, 
Whose  tongue  more  poisons  than  the  adder's  tooth, 
How  ill  beseeming  is  it  in  thy  sex 
To  triumph  like  an  Amazonian  trull 
Upon  their  woes  whom  fortune  captivates  ! 

3  Henry  VI.  t.,  4  :  Idem 

All  the  contagion  of  the  south  light  on  you. 
You  shames  of  Rome  !     You  herd  of —     Boils  and  plagues 
19 


REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

Plaster  you  o'er  ;  that  you  may  be  abhorred 
Farther  than  seen,  and  one  infect  another 
Against  the  wind  a  mile  ! 

Coriolanus,  i.,  4  :  Idem. 

To  these  illustrations  from  poetry  there  need  be  added 
here  no  references  to  the  other  arts,  partly  because  these 
will  be  given  in  other  places,  and  partly  because,  so  far  as 
concerns  the  general  principles  involved,  their  applicability 
to  each  of  these  arts  will  be  easily  recognized.  Whether 
manifested  in  music,  painting,  sculpture,  or  architecture, 
we  all  associate  the  sublime,  the  grand,  and  the  horrible 
with  more  or  less  of  the  same  sort  of  vagueness  in  rhythm, 
melody,  harmony,  color,  or  outline  which  in  poetry  has 
been  shown  to  suggest  something  beyond  the  possibility 
of  exact  formulation.  In  the  same  art-elements  too  we 
associate  \.\\z  picturesque,  the  simple,  and  \ht  pathetic  with 
that  which  is  normal  in  effect,  often  in  the  sense  of  being 
exactly  imitated  from  nature ;  and  we  associate  the 
brilliant,  the  striking,  and  the  violent  with  runs  and 
chords  in  which  each  note,  amid  difficulties  overcome  by 
skill,  rings  out  with  exceptional  distinctness  ;  with  colors, 
the  exact  hues  of  which,  amid  similar  difficulties,  it  is  im- 
possible to  mistake  ;  and  with  outlines  that,  notwithstand- 
ing equal  obstacles,  stand  out  in  correspondingly  bold 
relief. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

ARTISTIC     SIGNIFICANCE     AS    CHARACTERIZED     BY    THE 
SAME   THREE   TENDENCIES    IN    NON-SERIOUS    CONDI- 
TIONS :     THE    BURLESQUE,    THE    LUDICROUS,    AND 
THE     RIDICULOUS,    AS     IN     THE     MOCK-HEROIC, 
PARODY,  AND    FARCE;    THE    GROTESQUE,  THE 
DROLL,  AND  THE  JOCULAR  ;    TRAVESTY,  HU- 
MOR,    AND     WIT;     CARICATURE,     SATIRE, 
AND  SARCASM. 

Playful  Conditions — Incongruity  as  in  the  Burlesque,  the  Ludicrous,  and 
the  Ridiculous — The  Burlesque  in  the  Mock-Heroic — In  the  Parody — 
In  the  Farce  and  Pun — The  Ludicrous  in  the  Grotesque — Another  Ex- 
ample— In  the  Droll — In  the  Jocular — The  Ludicrous  in  Travesty — In 
Humor  and  Wit — Humor  Truthful,  Wit  Beautiful — Humor  Pictur- 
esque, Wit  Brilliant — Humor  Simple,  Wit  Striking — The  Ridiculous, 
as  non-Pleasurable  Play  in  Caricature — In  Satire — In  Sarcasm — Similar 
Developments  of  Incongruity  in  Music — In  Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture. 

A  LL  the  forms  of  expression  mentioned  in  the  last 
chapter  were  supposed  to  be  developed  under  the 
influence  of  serious  emotive  conditions,  in  which  the 
mind  is  conscious  of  dealing  with  matters  of  importance. 
In  this  chapter,  in  accordance  with  the  plan  indicated  on 
page  275,  we  are  to  consider  the  corresponding  develop- 
ments in  connection  with  playful  conditions.  That  which 
turns  serious  into  playful  effects  is  the  different  use  made 
of  the  factors  entering  into  them.  The  two  chief  factors 
in  expression,  as  we  have  found,  are  the  subject-matter 
and  the  form.  A  serious  intention  always  manifests  itself 

291 


REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

by  making  the  two  appear  congruous.  One  of  them  may 
be  emphasized  more  than  the  other,  as  the  subject-matter 
is  in  the  sublime  and  as  the  form  is  in  the  brilliant ;  but 
the  subordination  of  the  form,  in  the  one  case,  merely 
makes  us  feel  that  a  man  is  trying  to  express  what  no  one 
can  express  fully  ;  and  the  emphasis  of  the  form  in  the 
other,  that  he  is  trying  to  make  us  realize  what  no  one  can 
realize  fully.  In  neither  case  is  there  any  suggestion  of 
incongruity  as  an  end  in  itself.  Just  the  opposite  is  true 
of  the  playful.  The  incongruity  in  this  is  sometimes  be- 
tween the  subject-matter  and  the  form,  and  sometimes,  as 
developed  from  this  general  condition,  between  different 
parts  of  both  subject-matter  and  form.  It  is  important 
to  notice,  too,  that  this  incongruity  is  a  result  which,  ex- 
cept by  way  of  association,  can  be  attributed  to  only  the 
human  being,  never  to  God  or  to  nature.  It  is  inconceiv- 
able that  natural  forms  should  not  fulfil  those  natural 
laws  which  cause  them  to  represent,  and  all  together  to 
represent  in  an  analogous  way,  the  conceptions  of  the 
Creator.  But  with  man  it  is  different.  The  use  that  he 
makes  of  forms  depends  upon  his  own  will,  and  the 
ability  to  represent  what  he  chooses  carries  with  it  the 
ability  to  misrepresent.  If,  when  he  is  supposed  to  be 
serious,  he  misrepresent  intentionally,  he  deceives;  if  un- 
intentionally, he  blunders.  But,  in  this  last  case,  he 
sometimes  may  produce — as  in  the  forms  of  expression 
colloquially  termed  bulls — the  same  effects  as  when  he  is 
not  supposed  to  be  serious.  Among  these  effects  we  may 
detect  three  general  tendencies,  corresponding,  respect- 
ively, to  those  already  indicated  among  serious  effects. 
These  are  in  the  burlesque,  the  ludicrous,  and  the  ridicu- 
lous. In  the  burlesque,  sport  is  due  chiefly  to  the  subject- 
matter  which  is  presented  in  a  grossly  incongruous  form. 


THE  BURLESQUE,   LUDICROUS,   RIDICULOUS.      293 

In  the  ludicrous,  sport  is  due  to  either  the  subject-matter 
or  the  form,  or  to  different  parts  of  either,  because  they 
are  incongruously  associated.  In  the  ridiculous,  sport  is 
due  chiefly  to  the  form  which  causes  to  appear  incongruous 
the  thing  through  which  or  the  person  through  whom  the 
subject-matter  is  expressed.  As  a  rule,  the  burlesque  makes 
us  laugh  for,  the  ludicrous  makes  us  laugh  with,  and  the 
ridiculous  makes  us  laugh  at,  which  fact  furnishes  a  very 
good  reason  why  the  last  often  passes  over  into  the  region 
of  non-pleasurable  play. 

The  burlesque  phase  of  the  sublime  and  the  grand  may 
be  said  to  be  expressed  in  the  form  of  the  mock-heroic. 
The  same  phase  of  the  picturesque  and  the  simple,  to  be 
expressed  in  the  parody ;  and  of  the  brilliant  and  the 
striking,  in  the  farce,  closely  connected  with  which,  as  we 
shall  find,  is  the  pun.  In  the  mock-heroic  the  importance 
of  the  subject  is  not  great,  which  fact  is  made  clear  by 
joining  and  likening  the  subject,  as  well  as  the  heroes,  to 
very  insignificant  matters  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  all  the 
subjects  mentioned  are  sometimes  treated  as  if  of  very 
great  importance.  The  subject  of  the  following  is  the 
cutting  off  of  a  lock  of  hair ;  and  the  conjunction  of 
"  husbands  and  lap-dogs  "  will  be  recognized  to  be  equally 
belittling  to  the  one  and  enlarging  to  the  other : 

The  meeting  points  the  sacred  hair  dissever 
From  the  fair  head,  forever  and  forever  ! 
Then  flashed  the  lurid  lightning  from  her  eyes 
And  screams  of  horror  rend  the  affrighted  skies  ; 
Not  louder  shrieks  to  pitying  heaven  are  cast 
When  husbands  or  when  lap-dogs  breathe  their  last. 

Rape  of  the  Lock  :  Pope. 

The  parody  does  not,  like  the  mock-heroic,  exaggerate 
the  form  when  expressing  through  it  incongruously  inferior 


294      REPRESBNTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

ideas,  nor  does  it  belittle  the  form.  It  exactly  imitates 
some  existing  form,  thus  allying  itself  to  the  expression 
of  the  true,  the  picturesque,  and  the  simple.  Besides  this, 
its  effects  are  distributed  over  an  entire  sentence,  para- 
graph, or  composition  ;  and  therefore  are  less  single,  sharp, 
brilliant,  and  striking,  than  are  those  of  the  farce  or  the 
pun.  These  facts,  for  reasons  that  will  be  given  presently, 
connect  the  parody  with  humor  rather  than  with  wit  ; 


Now  shine  the  spires  beneath  the  paly  moon, 

And  through  the  cloisters  peace  and  silence  reign  ; 

Save  where  some  fiddler  scrapes  a  drowsy  tune, 
Or  copious  bowls  inspire  a  jovial  strain  ; 

Save  that  in  yonder  cobweb-mantled  room, 

Where  sleeps  a  student  in  profound  repose, 
Oppressed  with  ale,  wide  echoes  through  the  gloom 
The  droning  music  of  his  vocal  nose. 

An  Evening  Contemplation  in  a  College  / 
written  in  the  manner  of  Gray's  '  '  Elegy 
in  a  Country  Churchyard"  :  Duncombe* 

To  print,  or  not  to  print  —  that  is  the  question. 

Whether  '  t  is  better  in  a  trunk  to  bury 

The  quirks  and  crotchets  of  outrageous  fancy, 

Or  send  a  well-wrote  copy  to  the  press, 

And  by  disclosing,  end  them.     .     .     .     To  print,  to  beam 

From  the  same  shelf  with  Pope,  in  calf  well  bound, 

To  sleep,  perchance  with  Quarles  —  Ay,  there  's  the  rub. 

In  the  manner  of  Hamlets  Soliloquy  :    J&go. 

The  farce,  together  with  the  pun,  which  latter  corre- 
sponds to  individual  sallies  of  wit  in  pure  comedy,  is  always 
more  or  less  dramatic  in  the  sense  of  being  dependent 
upon  brilliant  and  striking  effects.  At  the  same  time,  the 
very  remote  resemblances  usually  suggested,  and  the  ease 
with  which  habits  of  suggesting  them  may  be  acquired, 


THE   BURLESQUE,    LUDICROUS,    RIDICULOUS. 

render  both  methods  of  making  sport  of  inferior  comic 
rank  unless,  as  in  the  following,  the  association  of  ideas 
or  of  sounds  is  particularly  striking : 

His  death,  which  happened  in  his  berth, 

At  forty-odd  befel  ; 
They  went  and  told  the  sexton,  and 

The  sexton  tolled  the  bell. 

Faithless  Sally  Brown  :     Hood. 

Of  the  three  divisions  of  the  ludicrous  that  we  are  about 
to  make,  it  will  be  noticed  that  the  first  often  borders 
closely  upon  the  burlesque  and  the  third  upon  the  ridic- 
ulous. But,  though  the  three  sometimes  overlap,  there  is 
a  distinction  between  them.  A  thing  may  be  ludicrous 
which  suggests  neither  the  burlesque  nor  the  ridiculous. 
That  phase  of  the  ludicrous  which  is  analogous  to  the 
sublime  or  the  grand  is  the  grotesque,  as  in  travesty  ;  that 
which  is  analogous  to  the  picturesque  or  the  simple  is  the 
droll,  as  in  humor ;  and  that  which  is  analogous  to  the 
brilliant  and  the  striking  is  the  jocular,  as  in  wit.  Of 
course,  according  to  the  principle  applied  on  page  284  to 
the  good,  the  true,  and  the  beautiful,  etc.,  all  of  these  char- 
acteristics are  manifested  more  or  less  in  all  ludicrous,  to 
say  nothing  of  burlesque  and  ridiculous,  products.  At  the 
same  time,  few  will  fail  to  perceive  that  a  man  may  make 
fun,  as  in  the  grotesque  or  in  travesty,  and  not  possess  a 
particle  of  that  which  is  recognized  as  distinctively  droll 
or  humorous  and  that  he  may  make  fun  in  the  way  of 
both  the  grotesque  and  the  humorous,  and  yet  not  be 
jocular  or  witty. 

But,  to  be  more  specific,  in  the  sublime  and  the  grand, 
although  a  serious  effort  is  made  to  represent  the  subject- 
matter,  the  importance  of  it  is  too  great  to  be  adequately 
represented  in  any  form.  In  the  grotesque  it  is  not  too 


296      REPRESENTA  TIVE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

great,  otherwise  it  would  not  be  a  legitimate  subject  for 
the  ludicrous,  which,  as  Bain  tells  us  in  his  "  English 
Composition  and  Rhetoric,"  "  is  for  the  most  part  based 
on  the  degradation,  direct  or  indirect,  of  some  person  or 
interest, — sometimes  associated  with  power,  dignity,  or 
gravity.  It  is  further  requisite  that  the  circumstances  of 
this  degradation  should  not  be  such  as  to  produce  any 
other  strong  emotion,  as  pity,  anger,  or  fear."  Here  is 
a  form  of  the  grotesque  which  can  hardly  be  distinguished 
from  the  burlesque.  So  far  as  it  can  be,  it  is  merely 
because  the  burlesquing  in  it  is  slightly  toned  down. 

"  The  plaintiff,  gentlemen,"  continued  Serjeant  Buzfuz,  in  a  soft  and 
melancholy  voice,  "  the  plaintiff  is  a  widow  ;  yes,  gentlemen,  a  widow. 
The  late  Mr.  Bardell,  after  enjoying  for  many  years  the  esteem  and  con- 
fidence of  his  sovereign,  as  one  of  the  guardians  of  his  royal  revenues, 
glided  almost  imperceptibly  from  the  world,  to  seek  elsewhere  for  that 
repose  and  peace  which  a  custom-house  can  never  afford."  At  the  pathetic 
description  of  the  decease  of  Mr.  Bardell,  who  had  been  knocked  on  the 
head  with  a  quart-pot  in  a  public-house  cellar,  the  learned  Serjeant's  voice 
faltered,  and  he  proceeded  with  emotion:  "Some  time  before  his  death 
he  had  stamped  his  likeness  upon  a  little  boy.  With  this  little  boy,  the 
only  pledge  of  her  departed  exciseman,  Mrs.  Bardell  shrunk  from  the 
world,  and  courted  the  retirement  and  tranquillity  of  Goswell  Street  ;  and 
here  she  placed  in  her  front  parlor-window  a  placard  bearing  this  inscrip- 
tion— '  Apartments  furnished  for  a  single  gentleman.  Inquire  within.'  .  .  . 
Did  it  remain  there  long  ?  No.  The  serpent  was  on  the  watch,  the  train 
was  laid,  the  mine  was  preparing,  the  sapper  and  miner  were  at  work. 
Before  the  bill  had  been  in  the  parlor-window  three  days — three  days, 
gentlemen — a  Being  erect  upon  two  legs,  and  bearing  all  the  outward 
semblance  of  a  man,  and  not  of  a  monster,  knocked  at  the  door  of  Mrs. 
Bardell's  house." 

The  Pickwick  Papers,  xxxiii.  :  Dickens. 

But  here  is  another  form  of  the  grotesque,  which  hardly 
suggests  the  burlesque.  It  is  from  Sydney  Smith  : 

"  Mrs.  Jackson  called  the  other  day,  and  spoke  of  the  oppressive  heat  of 
last  week.  '  Heat,  Madam,'  I  said,  '  it  was  so  dreadful  that  I  found  nothing 


THE   DROLL.  297 

left  for  it  but  to  take  off  my  flesh  and  sit  in  my  bones.'  '  Take  off  your 
flesh  and  sit  in  your  bones,  Sir?  O,  Mr.  Smith,  how  could  you  do  that?' 
'Nothing  more  easy,  madam;  come  and  see  me  next  time.'  But  she 
ordered  her  carriage  and  evidently  thought  it  a  very  unorthodox  proceeding. n 

As  contrasted  with  the  above,  the  following,  which  we 
may  term  droll,  illustrates  the  ludicrous  analogue  of  the 
true  and  the  simple  rather  than  of  the  good  and  the  grand. 
The  incongruity  in  it  is.produced  by  the  contrast  between 
the  subject  of  which  most  persons  do  not  like  to  thinkr 
much  less  to  speak,  and  the  frank,  transparent,  and,  when 
the  song  is  sung,  decidedly  loud  expression  of  it : 

Sad  is  the  woman's  lot  who,  year  by  year, 
Sees  one  by  one  her  beauties  disappear. 

Silvered  is  the  raven  hair, 

Spreading  is  the  parting  straight, 
Mottled  the  complexion  fair, 

Halting  is  the  youthful  gait, 
Hollow  is  the  laughter  free, 

Spectacled  the  limpid  eye  ; 
Little  will  be  left  of  me 

In  the  coming  by-and-by. 

Fading  is  the  taper  waist. 

Shapeless  grows  the  shapely  limb, 
And,  although  severely  laced, 

Spreading  is  the  figure  trim  ; 
Stouter  than  I  used  to  be, 

Still  more  corpulent  grow  I, 
There  will  be  too  much  of  me 

In  the  coming  by-and-by. 

Patience,  ii.  :  Gilbert. 

By  what,  for  the  lack  of  a  better  word,  has  been  termed 
the  jocular,  is  meant  very  nearly  what  is  expressed  by  the 
termpure  comedy.  It  is  a  result  when,  through  incongruity, 


298      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

say  in   situation,  suggestion,  or   language,  an    otherwise 
serious   thought    or   emotion    is    made    ludicrous  ;    e.  g. : 

FIRST  CLOWN.  Come,  my  spade  !  There  is  no  ancient  gentlemen, 
but  gardeners,  ditchers,  and  grave-makers  ;  they  hold  up  Adam's  profession. 

SECOND  CLOWN.     Was  he  a  gentleman  ? 

FIRST  CLOWN.     He  was  the  first  that  ever  bore  arms. 

SECOND  CLOWN.     Why,  he  had  none. 

FIRST  CLOWN.  What,  art  a  heathen  ?  How  dost  thou  understand  the 
Scripture  ?  The  Scripture  says  Adam  digged  :  could  he  dig  without  arms  ? 

Hamlet,  v.,  i  :  Shakespeare. 

MRS.  CROAKER.  Nothing  diverts  me  more  than  one  of  these  fine  old 
dressy  things,  who  thinks  to  conceal  her  age  by  everywhere  exposing  her 
person  ...  in  the  public  gardens  looking,  for  all  the  world,  like  one  of  the 
painted  ruins  of  the  place. 

HONEYWOOD.  Every  age  has  its  admirers,  ladies.  While  you,  perhaps, 
are  trading  among  the  warmer  climates  of  youth,  there  ought  to  be  some  to 
carry  on  a  useful  commerce  in  the  frozen  latitudes  beyond  fifty. 

Miss  RICH.  But,  then,  the  mortification  they  must  suffer  before  they 
can  be  fitted  out  for  the  traffic.  I  have  seen  one  of  them  fret  a  whole 
morning  at  her  hairdresser,  when  all  the  fault  was  in  her  face. 

HONEYWOOD.  And  yet  I  '11  engage  has  carried  that  face  at  last  to  a  very 
good  market.  This  good-natured  town,  madam,  has  husbands,  like  spec- 
tacles, to  fit  every  age  from  fifteen  to  fourscore. 

The  Good-Natured  Man  :  Goldsmith. 

As  was  said  on  page  295,  the  grotesque,  the  droll,  and 
the  jocular  respectively  develop,  in  their  more  artistic 
forms,  into  travesty,  humor,  and  wit.  Here,  in  methods 
of  expression  perfectly  legitimate  for  a  subject  warranting 
them,  but  grossly  exaggerated  for  the  subject  treated,  is 
a  good  example  of  travesty  : 

There  is  no  question  that  he  [Adam]  is  actually  buried  in  the  grave 
which  is  pointed  out  as  his — there  can  be  none — because  it  has  never  yet 
been  proven  that  that  grave  is  not  the  grave  in  which  he  is  buried.  The 
tomb  of  Adam  !  How  touching  it  was,  here  in  the  land  of  strangers  far 
away  from  home,  and  friends,  and  all  who  cared  for  me,  thus  to  discover  the 
grave  of  a  blood  relation.  True,  a  distant  one,  but  still  a  relation.  The 


WIT  AND   HUMOR.  299 

unerring  instinct  of  nature  thrilled  its  recognition.  The  fountain  of  my 
filial  affection  was  stirred  up  to  its  profoundest  depths,  and  I  gave  way  to 
tumultuous  emotion.  I  leaned  upon  a  pillar  and  burst  into  tears. 

Innocents  Abroad,  liii.  :  Mark  Twain  ( S.  L.  Clemens). 

Many  attempts,  usually  by  way  of  antithesis,  have  been 
made  to  distinguish  humor  and  wit.  In  order  to  refer  to 
these  without  needless  repetition,  the  two  will  be  con- 
sidered here  in  the  same  antithetic  manner.  The  former 
was  said,  on  page  295,  to  be  the  result  of  the  incongruous 
when  produced  in  accordance  with  the  scientific-artistic 
tendency  that  leads  through  the  true  to  the  picturesque 
and  the  simple ;  and  the  latter  to  be  a  result  of  the  same 
when  produced  in  accordance  with  the  artistic-artistic 
tendency  that  leads  through  the  beautiful  to  the  brilliant 
and  the  striking.  We  shall  find  many  distinctions  that 
have  been  drawn  between  the  two  which  will  suggest  the 
pedigree  of  each,  as  thus  indicated.  First,  let  us  notice 
the  connection  of  the  one  with  the  true  and  of  the  other 
with  the  beautiful.  "  The  characteristic  of  humor,"  says 
a  writer  in  the  "  British  Quarterly,"  vol.  Ivi.,  p.  45,  "is 
nature,  that  of  wit  is  art."  "  Novelty,"  says  Quackenbos 
in  his  "  Course  of  Composition  and  Rhetoric,"  page  232, 
"  is  not  essential  to  humor.  Its  truthfulness  to  nature 
prevents  it  from  being  tiresome.  .  .  .  Humor  is  not 
like  wit,  sudden  and  short-lived,  a  brilliant  scintillation 
which  flashes  forth  and  is  then  lost  in  obscurity."  "  Hu- 
mor," says  Welsh,  in  his  "  Complete  Rhetoric,"  page  259, 
4(  is  immortal  in  its  truthfulness  to  nature."  "  Wit,"  says 
Bardeen,  in  his  "Complete  Rhetoric,"  page  116,  "may  be 
wholly  imaginative."  "When  wit,"  says  Sydney  Smith, 
in  a  "  Lecture  on  Wit  and  Humor,"  "  is  combined  with 
sense  and  information  " — which  implies  that  often  it  is  not 
so  combined — "  it  is  then  a  beautiful  and  delightful  part 


300      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

of  our  nature."  In  accordance  with  these  distinctions, 
notice,  first,  the  absolute  naturalness  of  the  following  ex- 
amples of  humor.  They  may  both  be  said  to  suggest,  if 
we  may  use  so  large  a  term,  strict  accordance  with  scien- 
tific truth.  The  incongruity,  of  course,  is  between  the 
conception  that  most  of  us  have,  in  the  first  example,  of 
the  uses  of  a  bed  ;  and,  in  the  second,  of  the  romantic 
nature  of  the  sentiment  of  love,  and  the  real  things  as 
here  described  or  expressed. 

This  morning  we  were  rather  alarmed  by  the  prolonged  absence  of  the 
head  of  the  family.  .  .  .  As  he  is  naturally  an  early  riser,  this  circum- 
stance excited  first  surprise,  then  anxiety,  and  then  apprehension.  ...  In 
the  end,  I  became  nervous  myself,  and  took  the  liberty  of  entering  the  bed- 
chamber of  the  absentee.  .  .  .  Imagine  my  worthy  uncle  lying  broad  awake, 
on  his  back  in  a  true  German  bedstead — a  sort  of  wooden  box  or  trough, 
so  much  too  short  for  him  that  his  legs  extended  half  a  yard  beyond  it  on 
either  side  of  the  foot-board.  Above  him  on  his  chest  and  stomach,  from 
his  chin  to  his  knees,  lay  a  huge  squab  or  cushion.  .  .  .  For  fear  of  dis- 
arranging this  article,  he  could  only  turn  his  eyes  toward  me  as  I  entered, 
and,  when  he  spoke,  it  was  with  a  voice  that  seemed  weak  and  broken  from 
exhaustion.  "  Frank,  I  Ve  passed — a  miserable  night.  .  .  .  I  have  n't — 
slept — a  wink.  .  .  .  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  thing  as  that  ?"  with  a  slight 
nod  and  roll  of  his  eyes  toward  the  cushion.  I  shook  my  head.  "  If  I 
moved,  it  fell  off  ;  and  if  I  did  n't,  I  got — the  cramp."  Here  a  sort  of  sup- 
pressed groan.  "  Frank,  I  Ve  only  turned  once  all  night  long.  .  .  .  Frank, 
I  Ve  been  thinking  over  the  sleeping  business,  and  my  mind  's  made  up. 
Take  my  word  for  it,  the  German  beds  are  at  the  bottom  of  the  German 
stories.  They  're  all  full  of  hobgoblin  work  and  deviltry,  as  if  a  man  had 
written  them  after  bad  dreams.  Since  last  night,  I  think  I  could  have  made 
up  a  German  romancical  story  myself  like  '  The  Devil  and  Dr.  Faustus ' — 
that's  to  say,  provided  I  could  only  have  gone  to  sleep." 

Up  the  Rhine  :  Hood. 

Then  she  had  convulsive  sobbings  in  her  agitated  throttle, 

Then  she  wiped  her  pretty  eyes  and  smelt  her  pretty  smelling-bottle. 

So  I  whispered,  "  Dear  Elvira,  say, — what  can  the  matter  be  with  you? 
Does  anything  you've  eated,  darling  Popsy,  disagree  with  you?" 

Fernando  and  Elvira  :  Gilbert. 


WIT  AND  HUMOR.  3<DI 

As  contrasted  with  the  naturalness  and  truthfulness  of 
these  effects,  notice  the  artful,  if  not  artificial  quality  that 
makes  each  of  the  following  an  example  of  wit : 

When  George  Wither,  the  Puritan  poet,  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Cava- 
liers, Sir  John  Denham  saved  his  life  by  saying  to  Charles  I.  :  "I  hope  your 
Majesty  will  not  have  poor  George  Wither  hung,  for  as  long  as  he  lives  it 
can't  be  said  that  I  am  the  worst  poet  in  England." 

Lecture  on  Wit  and  Humor  :  E.  P.   Whipple. 

Louis  XIV.  was  exceedingly  molested  by  the  solicitations  of  a  general  officer 
at  the  Levee,  and  cried  out,  loud  enough  to  be  overheard  :  "  That  gentle- 
man is  the  most  troublesome  officer  in  the  whole  army."  "  Your  Majesty's 
enemies  have  said  the  same  thing  more  than  once,"  was  the  answer. 

Lecture  on   Wit  and  Humor  :  Sydney  Smith.    . 

As  I  stood  gazing  on  the  spot  where  Shakespeare  is  s'posed  to  have  fell  down 
on  the  ice  and  hurt  hisself  when  a  boy  (this  spot  cannot  be  bought — the  town 
authorities  say  it  shall  never  be  taken  from  Stratford),  I  wondered  if  three 
hundred  years  hence  pictures  of  my  birthplace  would  be  in  demand.  I 
guess  they  wont  short  of  that  time,  because  they  say  the  fat  man  weighing 
1000  pounds  which  I  exhibited  there  was  stuffed  out  with  pillers  and 
cushions,  which  he  said  one  very  hot  day  in  July,  "  Oh  bother,  I  can't  stand 
this  "  and  commenced  pullin'  the  pillers  out  of  his  weskit,  and  heavin'  them 
at  the  audience.  I  never  saw  a  man  lose  flesh  so  fast  in  my  life.  The 
audience  said  I  was  a  pretty  man  to  come  chiselin'  my  own  townsmen  in 
that  way.  I  said,  "  Do  not  be  angry,  feller-citizens.  I  exhibited  him 
simply  as  a  work  of  art.  I  simply  wished  to  show  you  that  a  man  could 
grow  fat  without  the  aid  of  codliver  oil."  But  they  wouldn't  listen  to  me. 
They  are  a  low  and  grovelin'  set  of  people  who  excite  a  feelin'  of  loathin' 
in  every  breast  where  lofty  emotions  and  original  idees  have  a  bidin'  place. 
At  the  Tomb  of  Shakespeare  :  Artemus  Ward  (C.  F.  Browne). 

Now  let  us  consider  humor  as  a  form  of  the  picturesque 
and  wit  as  a  form  of  the  brilliant.  "  Humor,"  according 
to  the  "  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,"  "  is  the  faculty  used  to 
express  that  pleasure  resulting  from  seeing  high  and 
low  brought  into  immediate  and  irreconcilable  conjunction. 
Wit  is  the  faculty  which  traces  remote  resemblance  between 
dissimilar  objects,  with  the  special  design  of  producing 


302      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

laughter."  This  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  humor  leaves 
things  disconnected  as  in  the  picturesque  (see  page  280), 
whereas  wit  gives  them  unity  and  brings  their  effects  to 
a  focus  in  form,  as  in  the  intellectual  effort  underlying 
the  brilliant.  "  No  great  philosopher,"  says  a  writer  in 
the  "  Cornhill  Magazine,"  vol.  xxxiii.,  p.  319,  "was  ever 
himself  a  humorist."  (?)  "  The  thinker  loves  symmetry  " — 
which  the  picturesque  has  not,  see  page  280.  "  The  humor- 
ist hates  it.  Humor  implies  a  keen  delight  in  emotional 
contrasts.  Wit  is  purely  intellectual."  The  "  essence  of 
humor,"  says  C.  M.  Davies  in  his  "  Fun,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  95,  "  is 
incongruity" — like  the  picturesque  again.  "Humor  de- 
pends on  violent  contrasts,  wit  on  abstruse  resemblances. 
Humor  deals  in  strong  antitheses,  where  wit  delights  in 
clear  combinations.  Surprise  "  belongs  to  both.  In  hu- 
mor, "  it  results  from  opposition  rather  than  the  suddenly 
discovered  relation  of  ideas."  "  Wit,"  says  Welsh  in  his 
"Complete  Rhetoric,"  page  259,  "is  brilliant,  cutting, 
more  admirable,  liable  to  pall  on  repetition.  Humor  is 
milder,  the  gently  mirthful,  long  drawn  out."  "  Wit," 
says  Whipple  in  his  "  Lecture  on  Wit  and  Humor,"  "  is 
abrupt,  darting.  .  .  .  Wit,  bright,  rapid,  and  blasting 
as  the  lightning,  flashes,  strikes,  and  vanishes  in  an  instant." 
These  statements  need  no  further  illustration  than  may 
be  found  in  the  examples  of  humor  and  wit  given  on  pages 
300,  301,  304,  and  305. 

A  few  more  quotations  will  confirm  what  remains  to  be 
said  of  the  two  as  developments,  respectively,  of  the 
methods  that  lead  to  the  distinctively  simple  and  the 
striking'-,  or,  in  more  serious  condition,  to  the  pathetic 
and  the  violent.  Worcester  in  his  Dictionary  terms  humor 
"  kindly  pleasantry."  Carlyle,  in  his  essay  on  "  Jean  Paul 
Richter,"  says  of  humor  that  it  is  "  the  purest  effluence  of 


HUMOR   AND    WIT.  303 

a  deep,  fine,  and  loving  nature,  a  nature  in  harmony  with 
itself,  reconciled  to  the  world."  "  The  greatest  masters 
of  pathos,"  says  Bain  in  his  "  English  Composition  and 
Rhetoric,"  page  107,  "  are  also  the  greatest  humorists." 
"  Wherever  you  find  humor,  you  find  pathos  close  by  its 
side,"  says  Whipple  in  his  essay  on  "  Wit  and  Humor." 
And  why  should  this  not  be  the  case,  if  the  two  tenden- 
cies correspond,  as  has  been  intimated  here  ?  "  Wit,"  says 
a  writer  in  the  "  British  Quarterly,"  vol.  Ivi.,  page  44,  "  re- 
quires a  good  head,  humor  a  good  heart."  "  Wit  gives 
you  a  nod  in  passing,"  says  another  in  the  "  Quarterly  Re- 
view," vol.  cxxii,  page  213,  "but  with  humor  you  feel  at 
home."  "Wit,"  says  Welsh  in  his  "Complete  Rhet- 
oric," pp.  258  and  259,  "pertains  rather  to  ideas,  is  thus 
more  sudden,  startling,  transient ;  humor  pertains  rather 
to  persons  and  things,  is  more  continuous,  forms  the  staple 
of  the  comic  in  life  and  literature.  .  .  .  The  pleasure 
breaks  out  at  no  particular  point,  but  follows  us  all  the 
way  ;  nowhere  particularly  striking,  but  inseparable  from 
the  character  or  subject.  The  laugh,  if  such  there  be,  is 
genial  and  kindly."  "  Humor,"  says  Bardeen 
in  his  "  Complete  Rhetoric,"  page  1 14,  "  is  enjoyed  in 
proportion  as  it  is  expected,  wit  in  proportion  as  it  is 
unexpected,"  and  so  is  striking.  Again,  he  says,  page 
115,  "Wit  is  instaneous,  humor  is  continuous."  "  Hu- 
mor," says  Whipple,  in  his  "  Lecture  on  Wit  and  Humor," 
"  warm  and  all-embracing  as  the  sunshine,  bathes  its  ob- 
jects in  a  genial  and  abiding  light.  Wit  .  .  .  pro- 
duces its  effects  by  brisk  shocks  of  surprise,  uses  the  whips 
of  scorpions  and  the  branding  iron,  stabs,  stings,  pinches, 
tortures,  goads,  teases,  corrodes,  undermines."  Notice 
how  thoroughly  simple  in  all  regards  is  the  following  ex- 
ample of  humor: 


304      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

"  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  !    Here 's  the  house," 

They  all  at  once  did  cry  ; 
"  The  dinner  waits  and  we  are  tired  "  ; 

Said  Gilpin,  "  So  am  I." 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit 

Inclined  to  tarry  there  ; 
For  why  ? — his  owner  had  a  house 

Full  ten  miles  off  at  Ware. 


Away  went  Gilpin  out  of  breath, 
And  sore  against  his  will, 

Till  at  his  friend's  the  Calender's, 
His  horse  at  last  stood  still. 


"  What  news?  what  news?  your  tidings  tell, 

Tell  me  you  must  and  shall, — 
Say  why  bare-headed  you  are  come, 

Or  why  you  come  at  all  ?  " 


"  I  came  because  your  horse  would  come  ; 

And,  if  I  well  forebode, 
My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here, 

They  are  upon  the  road." 

John  Gilpin  :  Cowper. 

But  wit  is  often  so  striking  as  to  be  violent.     In  Mark 
Lemon's  "  Jest  Book,"  we  read  : 

True  wit  is  like  the  brilliant  stone 

Dug  from  Golconda's  mine, 
Which  boasts  two  various  powers  in  one, — 

To  cut  as  well  as  shine. 

Genius  like  that,  if  polished  right, 

With  the  same  gifts  abounds, 
Appears  at  once  both  keen  and  bright 

And  sparkles  while  it  wounds. 


HUMOR   AND    WIT.  30$ 

Wit,  too,  whether  it  wound,  or  not,  almost  always  sug- 
gests a  touch  of  intellectual  subtlety  and  complexity,  which 
separates  it  entirely  from  the  distinctively  simple,  e.  g.  : 

"  Dr.  Parr,"  said  a  young  student  once  to  the  old  linguist,  "  let's  you  and 
I  write  a  book."  "  Very  well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  put  in  all  that  I  know, 
and  all  that  you  don't  know,  and  we  'd  make  a  big  one." 

Wit  and  Humor  :  E.  P.   Whipple. 

Notice  the   same  fact   in   Mercutio's    description   of   the 
scratch  that  killed  him  in  the  duel : 

"  No,  '  t  is  not  so  deep  as  a  well,  nor  so  wide  as  a  church  door  ;  but  '  t  is 
enough,  '  t  will  serve  ;  ask  for  me  to-morrow  and  you  shall  find  me  a  grave 
man." 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  Hi,  i  :   Shakespeare. 

The  pun  upon  the  word  grave  in  this  last  sentence,  as 
well  as  the  puns  in  the  quotation  from  Hamlet  on  page 
298,  will  remind  the  reader  of  what,  on  page  294,  was  said 
of  the  correlation  between  this  form  of  the  farce  and  wit. 

Turning  now  to  the  ridiculous,  and  recalling  that  it 
often  represents  non-pleasurable  play,  because  it  causes 
us  to  laugh  at  things  or  persons,  let  us  notice,  first,  that 
phase  of  it  which  corresponds  to  the  good,  the  grand,  and 
the  burlesque,  as  in  the  grotesque  and  travesty.  We  have 
this  phase  in  caricature.  It  will  be  recognized,  at  once, 
that  the  practical  and  personal  uses  which  are  made  of 
this  form,  though  ostensibly  playful,  fit  it  far  better  for 
awakening  resentment  than  laughter. 

For  he  was  of  that  stubborn  crew 
Of  errant  saints,  whom  all  men  grant 
To  be  the  true  Church  Militant ; 
Such  as  do  build  their  faith  upon 
The  holy  truth  of  pike  and  gun  ; 
Decide  all  controversies  by 
Infallible  artillery — 


306      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

And  prove  their  doctrine  orthodox 
By  Apostolic  blows  and  knocks. 

Compound  for  sins,  they  are  inclined  to 
By  damning  those  they  have  no  mind  to, 
Still  so  perverse  and  opposite 
As  if  they  worshipped  God  for  spite. 

Hudibras,  i. ,  i  :  Butler. 

Old  Latimer  preaching  did  fairly  describe 
A  bishop  who  ruled  all  the  rest  of  his  tribe  ; 
And  who  is  this  bishop  ?  and  where  does  he  dwell  ? 
Why,  truly,  't  is  Satan,  archbishop  of  Hell. 
And  he  was  a  primate,  and  he  wore  a  mitre, 
Surrounded  with  jewels  of  sulphur  and  nitre. 

Could  you  see  his  grim  grace  for  a  pound  to  a  penny, 
You  'd  swear  it  must  be  the  baboon  of  Kilkenny. 


Our  bishops,  puffd  up  with  wealth  and  with  pride, 

To  hell  on  the  backs  of  the  clergy  would  ride. 

They  mounted  and  labored  with  whip  and  with  spur, 

In  vain — for  the  devil  a  parson  would  stir. 

So  the  commons  unhorsed  them  ;  and  this  was  their  doom, 

On  their  crosiers  to  ride  like  a  witch  on  a  broom. 

On  the  Irish  Bishops  :    Swiff. 

Humor  and  wit  respectively,  in  the  degree  in  which 
they  become  practical  and  personal,  always  involve  more 
or  less  of  satire  and  sarcasm.  In  both  forms,  as  also  in 
caricature,  there  is  apt  to  be  much  irony,  which  is  a  gen- 
eral term  applied  to  a  method  of  insinuating  one  thing 
while  expressing  another.  But  the  irony  of  satire  is 
milder  than  that  of  sarcasm,  and  is  usually,  though  not 
always,  as  is  sometimes  said,  directed  toward  affairs  in 
general,  rather  than  addressed  to  and  against  persons. 
There  is  more  humor  than  wit,  for  instance,  in  the  satire 
of  the  following  : 


SATIRE   AND   SARCASM.  307 

To  be  so  distinguished  is  an  honor,  which,  being  very  little  accustomed  to 
favors  from  the  great,  I  know  not  well  how  to  receive,  or  in  what  terms  to 
acknowledge. — Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield  :  Johnson. 

I  really  take  it  very  kind, — 

This  visit,  Mrs.  Skinner  ; 
I  have  not  seen  you  such  an  age — 

(The  wretch  has  come  to  dinner  ! ) 
Your  daughters,  too,  what  loves  of  girls  ! 

What  heads  for  painters'  easels  ! 
Come  here,  and  kiss  the  infant,  dears, — 

(And  give  it,  p'rhaps,  the  measles  ! ) 
Domestic  Asides  or  Truth  in  Parentheses  :    Thomas  Hood. 

So  too,  though  directed  against  a  person,  the  resem- 
blance to  a  light  form  of  innuendo  suggests  satire  rather 
than  sarcasm,  and  humor  notwithstanding  its  wit,  in  that 
saying  of  Fuller  in  his  "  Worthies  "  with  reference  to 
Camden,  the  antiquarian,  that  "  he  had  a  number  of  coins 
of  the  Roman  emperors  and  a  good  many  more  of  the  later 
English  kings." 

The  stronger,  more  personal,  and  passional  form  of  this 
method  of  attack  which  we  have  in  sarcasm  is  clearly  allied 
to  wit  rather  than  to  humor.  When  Coleridge  was  inter- 
rupted by  hisses  in  one  of  his  democratic  lectures  at  Bris- 
tol, the  brilliancy  of  his  sarcastic  reply  illustrated  not  the 
latter  but  the  former.  "  I  am  not  at  all  surprised,"  he 
said,  "  that  when  the  red-hot  prejudices  of  aristocrats  are 
suddenly  plunged  into  the  cool  element  of  reason,  they 
should  go  off  with  a  hiss."  Notice  also  the  following: 

So  bees  with  smoke,  and  doves  with  noisome  stench, 
Are  from  their  hives  and  houses  driven  away. 
They  called  us,  for  our  fierceness,  English  dogs  ; 
Now  like  to  whelps  we  crying  run  away. 

I  Henry  VI.,  *.,  jv  Shakespeare. 

Thou  almost  mak'st  me  waver  in  my  faith 
To  hold  opinion  with  Pythagoras, 


308      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

That  souls  of  animals  infuse  themselves 
Into  the  trunks  of  men  ;  thy  currish  spirit 
Govern'd  a  wolf. 

Merchant  of  Venice,  z'z/.,  /  .•  Shakespeare. 

What  art  thou  ?  Have  not  I 
An  arm  as  big  as  thine  ?  a  heart  as  big  ? 
Thy  words  I  grant  are  bigger  ;  for  I  wear  not 
My  dagger  in  my  mouth. 

•     Cymbeline,  iv.,  2  :  Idem. 

The  only  art  from  which  illustrations  of  these  different 
forms  of  incongruity  have  been  drawn  here  is  poetry.  It 
is  the  only  art,  unless  it  be  painting,  in  which  the  distinc- 
tions that  have  been  made  are  often  made  or  are  necessary. 
In  music,  the  significance  is  merely  a  tendency  of  feeling; 
and  few  recognize  it  distinctly  Of  course,  therefore,  they 
cannot  recognize  in  this  art  the  phases  of  incongruity^ 
which  we  have  been  considering.  Nevertheless,  not  only 
in  comic  operas,  but  in  serious  compositions,  there  are 
some  effects,  though  not  termed  by  these  names,  that  cor- 
respond exactly  to  the  divisions  of  the  incongruous  that 
have  just  been  indicated.  The  serenade  in  Wagner's 
"  Meistersinger  "  illustrates  the  grotesque  in  music ;  the 
"  Spinning  Song,"  for  the  violoncello,  by  David  Popper, 
exemplifies  humor  ;  and  the  various  sudden  transitions 
from  violin  to  cymbal  and  drum,  which  startle  the  actors 
on  the  comic-opera  stage,  correspond  to  wit. 

"Humor,"  says  Gurney  in  his  "Power  of  Song,"  "  is 
often  connected  with  comparisons  of  parts  and  marked  feat- 
ures of  diversity  and  change.  The  simplest  possible  case 
would  be  the  slackening  and  pause  immediately  before  a 
cadence  (as  in  the  third  figure  of  the  Lancers)  succeeded 
by  a  quick  wind-up,  which  is  quite  parallel  to  things  that 
make  babies  laugh ;  and  this  tantalizing  and  surprising  of  the 
expectant  ear  has  many  more  delicate  varieties.  Another 


THE  PLAYFUL   IN  ALL    THE  ARTS.  309 

sort  of  fun  in  music  depends  simply  on  the  watching  of 
a  race,  as  in  the  minuet  of  Haydn's  quartette,  Op.  76,  2. 
But  there  are  also  less  simple  effects,  especially  common 
in  the  works  of  Beethoven,  where  the  most  comprehensive 
definition  of  humor  is  realized  in  the  simultaneous  pre- 
sentation of  subtle  aspects  of  congruity  and  incongruity." 
In  painting,  the  range  for  the  exercise  of  these  qualities 
is  almost  as  wide  as  in  poetry.  We  often  recognize  the  dis- 
tinctive characteristics  of  the  grotesque,  the  droll,  and  the 
jocular,  as  well  as  of  caricature,  satire,  and  sarcasm,  in  the 
illustrations  of  the  comic  papers  ;  and  though  the  perma- 
nence of  works  of  high  art  seems  to  require  that  they  should 
be  directed  to  graver  subjects,  the  fun,  mainly  of  the  hu- 
morous kind,  perceptible  in  compositions  like  those  of 
Hogarth  and  Teniers  proves  that  this  is  not  a  requirement 
that  the  painter  is  not  sometimes  justified  in  violating.  In 
sculpture,  however,  with  exception  of  small  productions, 
and  now  and  then  a  drunken  satyr  or  Bacchus  ;  and  in 
architecture,  with  exception  of  grotesque  gargoyles  and 
pew  carvings  like  those  of  the  Middle  Ages,  this  require- 
ment is  almost  universally  respected.  A  high  ideal  of  these 
arts  seems  to  demand  that,  as  a  rule,  no  conception  should 
be  put  into  stone  at  least  that  is  not  in  itself  sufficiently 
serious,  grave,  and  dignified  to  correspond  in  character  to 
the  material  in  which  it  is  presented. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ARTISTIC    SIGNIFICANCE  AS   EXPRESSED   IN   FORM  :    THE 

THREE   TENDENCIES   ALREADY    CONSIDERED   AS 

DEVELOPED   IN   THE   EPIC,   THE   REALISTIC, 

AND   THE   DRAMATIC. 

The  Good,  Sublime,  and  Grand  Developed  in  the  Epic  ;  the  True,  Pictur- 
esque, and  Simple  in  the  Realistic  ;  the  Beautiful,  Brilliant,  and  Strik- 
ing in  the  Dramatic — Epic  Art  Defined — Realistic  and  Dramatic  Art 
Defined — A  Story  as  Told  Epically — Realistically — Dramatically — 
The  Epic  Developed  First  in  Order  of  Time — The  Dramatic  Later — 
Relative  Advantages  of  the  Different  Forms — Taine's  Criterion 
Founded  on  the  Degree  of  Importance  of  the  Character  Delineated — 
Indicates  Superiority  in  the  Epic — On  the  Beneficence  of  the  Character 
— Also  Indicates  Superiority  in  the  Epic — But  both  the  Realistic  and 
Dramatic  Have  Points  of  Superiority — And  may  Include  the  Excel- 
lences of  the  Others — Importance  of  Distinguishing  the  Three  Forms. 

TXT'E  are  now  prepared,  in  accordance  with  what  was 
promised  on  page  270,  to  take  up  the  results  of 
significance  as  expressed  in  forms,  and  to  show  how  these 
are  fitted  or  not  fitted  to  represent  the  phases  of  thought 
or  emotion  intended.  In  pursuing  this  course,  we  shall 
consider  first  the  results  that  are  the  most  generic,  and 
finally  those  that  are  the  most  specific. 

At  the  outset,  it  may  be  said  that  it  is  natural  to  sup- 
pose that  each  of  the  expressional  tendencies  which,  with 
its  respective  developments,  has  been  considered  in  the 
two  preceding  chapters  will  impart  to  an  art-product,  in 
the  degree  in  which  it  predominates,  a  distinctive  charac- 
ter. This  condition  we  find  to  be  realized.  Corresponding 

310 


THREE    GENERAL    ART-FORMS.  311 

to  religious-artistic,  scientific-artistic,  and  artistic-artistic 
tendencies,  together  with  the  other  tendencies  respec- 
tively associated  with  these,  are  three  general  divisions  or 
forms  of  art,  under  one  or  the  other  of  which  all  its  pro- 
ducts may  be  classified,  namely,  the  epic,  the  realistic, 
and  the  dramatic.  What  was  said  in  Chapter  XV.  in 
connection  with  what  is  to  be  said  in  this  chapter,  may, 
therefore,  be  summarized  thus  : 

Religious-    ]   g  4  o  f  If 

artistic    -3  ac     the  Good  the  Sublime  the  Grand  2     Epic 


Scientific- 


artistic  |"4>  *•£    the  True  the  Picturesque    the  Simple        (" -o  "  Realistic 

Artistic-  8  1  >  I   £  I        and 


artistic  J  H  g,'5  [the  Beautiful     the  Brilliant  the  Striking    j        [,  Dramatic 


In  order  to  get  back,  as  nearly  as  possible,  to  first  prin- 
ciples, we  have  dropped  from  this  summary  the  non- 
pleasurable  developments,  respectively  corresponding  to 
these,  namely,  the  horrible,  the  pathetic,  and  the  violent ;  as 
well  as  all  the  playful  developments.  But  it  is  easy  enough 
for  the  reader  to  perceive  that  the  same  methods  of  classifi- 
cation apply  to  these  developments  as  to  those  indicated 
in  the  summary. 

It  has  been  shown  elsewhere  that,  in  the  order  of  develop- 
ment, the  religious-artistic  tendency  comes  first,  operating 
analogously  to  the  spiritual  truth  that  may  be  supposed 
to  be  represented  in  natural  appearances.  But  anything 
spiritual,  when  represented  in  appearances,  can  be  ex- 
pressed in  only  a  very  indefinite  and  general  way.  For 
this  very  reason,  however — through  exciting  curiosity  if 
nothing  else — that  which  is  so  expressed  calls  emphatic 
attention  to  itself  as  a  source  that  is  not,  but  might  be, 
wholly  manifested  in  the  form.  In  other  words,  as  indi- 
cated on  page  272,  this  religious-artistic  tendency  empha- 
sizes the  thing  signified,  i.  e.,  the  subject-matter  behind 
the  form.  In  the  summary  on  page  274,  the  tendency  is 


312      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

termed  instinctive  and  subjective,  and  indicated  as  mani- 
festing idealism.  Now  add  to  this  the  further  fact, 
brought  out  on  pages  274  to  280  and  286,  namely,  that 
the  same  tendency  leads  to  the  expression  of  the  sublime 
and  the.  grand ;  and  we  have  all  the  elements  necessary 
to  constitute  what  are  usually  recognized  to  be  the  char- 
acteristics of  epic  art,  a  well-known  definition  of  which  is 
that  of  Blair  in  his  "  Rhetoric,"  namely,  "  the  illustrating 
of  some  great  and  general  idea."  This  might  be  improved 
by  saying  that  it  is  the  illustrating  of  a  great  idea  or  spirit- 
ual principle,  through  forms  typical  of  the  general  effect 
of  its  influence.  This  definition  will  be  exemplfied  from 
the  different  arts  hereafter. 

On  the  pages  just  mentioned,  it  was  shown  also  that  the 
scientific-artistic  tendency  emphasizes  the  relations  be- 
tween the  thing  signified  and  the  form.  In  fulfilment  of 
this  condition,  both  subject-matter  and  form  seem  in  it  to 
be  given,  as  far  as  possible,  equal  consideration,  neither 
being  subordinated  to  the  other.  But,  of  course,  the  prac- 
tical effect  is  great  accuracy  in  the  delineation,  all  the  de- 
tails of  natural  appearance,  in  the  order  of  succession  and  of 
interaction,  being,  in  a  sense  not  true  in  epic  art,  necessary 
to  the  desired  result.  This  we  find  to  be  the  condition  in 
what  may  be  called  realistic  art  — the  art  not  necessarily  of 
that  which  is  termed  realism,  but  the  art  which  has  the 
same  general  tendency  as  realism,  and  may  be  defined  as 
the  delineating  of  material  and  mental  effects  in  human 
or  non-human  life  exactly  as,  on  the  surface,  they  appear 
to  be.  The  term  historic  has  sometimes  been  applied  to 
this  form  of  art,  but  it  is  narrower  in  its  meaning,  and 
accurately  distinguishes  only  one  subdivision  of  the  form. 

Once  more,  it  has  been  shown  that  the  artistic-artistic 
tendency  emphasizes  the  "  form  signifying."  This  is  the 


THE   EPIC,   REALISTIC,    AND  DRAMATIC.          313 

characteristic  of  dramatic  art,  which  accepts  the  influence 
of  the  subject-matter  only  after  this  has  taken  possession 
of  a  particular  medium  of  expression  and  transfigured  it, 
producing  thus  a  result,  as  will  be  noticed,  exactly  the 
opposite  of  the  religious-artistic  tendency.  Instead  of 
giving  supremacy  to  the  general  and  indefinite,  of  which 
the  form  is  typical,  the  dramatic  emphasizes  the  special 
and  definite,  thus  enlarging  the  attractiveness  and  impor- 
tance of  the  form  itself,  furnishing 

— to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  v.,  i :  Shakespeare. 

In  contrast  to  the  epic  and  the  realistic,  the  dramatic  may 
be  denned  as  the  impersonating  of  individual  characteris- 
tics as  affected  by  considerations  influencing  them  from 
within  and  from  without.  It  will  be  noticed  that  the 
definition  is  broad  enough  to  include  dramatic  effects  as 
produced  in  and  by  not  only  human  forms  but  also  those 
that  are  non-human. 

These  definitions  of  the  three  main  divisions  of  art-form 
differ  in  phraseology,  but  correspond  in  essentials  to  the 
same  as  recognized  many  times  before.  Thus  Fuseli,  in 
his  third  "Lecture  on  Painting,"  says  that  "in  the  epic, 
act  and  agent  are  subordinate  to  the  maxim  ;  and  in  pure 
history  " — what  has  here  been  termed  the  realistic — "  are 
mere  organs  of  the  fact ;  but  the  drama  subordinates  both 
fact  and  maxim  to  the  agent,  his  character  and  passion." 
The  distinction  between  the  three  and  also  their  natural 
order  of  sequence,  as  related  to  one  another,  may  be  better 
understood,  perhaps,  through  an  illustration.  Suppose 
that  one  feel  moved  to  tell  a  story.  That  which  first 
prompts  him  to  do  so  is  some  thought,  usually  a  general 
impression,  which  strikes  him  in  connection  with  certain 


314      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

transactions  that  he  has  witnessed  or  heard  ;  and  because 
the  impression  remains,  he  tells  the  story  in  such  a  way  as 
to  convey  to  his  hearers  an  impression  similar  to  his  own. 
His  whole  object  in  the  recital,  though  he  may  not  be  con- 
scious of  it,  is  to  make  clear  the  impression,  or,  as  we 
sometimes  say,  the  moral,  the  point  that  has  interested 
him,  and  so  long  as  he  does  this,  he  cares  little  about  ac- 
curacy in  all  the  details.  Now  this  is  the  condition 
requisite  to  the  epic  form  of  art,  and,  as  all  of  us  will 
probably  recognize,  this  is  the  condition  of  the  method 
most  instinctively  adopted  by  those  who  gain  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  good  story-tellers.  Therefore  it  seems 
appropriate  that  the  Greeks,  taking  their  term  from  a  word 
meaning  story,  should  have  named  this  form,/#r  excellence, 
the  epic,  or  story-style. 

But  there  is  another  way  in  which  one  may  recall  the 
same  transactions.  After  reflecting  upon  them  a  little,  he 
may  begin  to  analyze  the  different  deeds  or  words  of  the 
persons  implicated,  and  to  ask  himself,  Why  did  this  one 
do  this  or  say  that?  These  reflections  will  lead  him  to 
think  more  particularly  of  the  details  of  the  transactions 
and  sayings,  and  of  each  of  them  in  the  order  of  its 
occurrence.  When,  after  such  a  consideration,  he  comes 
to  tell  the  story,  although  possibly  he  may  not  neglect  to 
bring  out  that  which  at  first  seemed  to  him  to  be  its 
"  point,"  nevertheless  this  will  appear  subordinate  to  the 
accuracy  with  which  he  relates  the  details  themselves  and 
their  interaction.  In  other  words,  his  desire  to  be  true 
to  the  facts  in  their  order  of  sequence — i.  e.,  to  the  scien- 
tific-artistic tendency — will  realize  the  condition  requisite 
to  what  has  been  termed  realistic  art ;  and  with  reference 
to  this,  it  is  evident  that  while  such  a  mode  of  recital  may 
render  a  story  far  less  interesting  as  a  mere  story,  it  will 


THE   DRAMATIC.  315 

render  it  far  more  satisfactory  to  a  consideration  purely 
intellectual  and  analytic. 

Once  more,  there  is  still  a  third  way  of  telling  the 
story.  After  analyzing  the  different  words  and  deeds  of 
the  persons  engaged  in  the  transactions,  a  man  may  be- 
come conscious  of  forming  definite  conclusions  with  re- 
ference to  the  motives  and  characters  of  these  persons, 
and,  as  a  result  of  his  conclusions,  he  may  be  joyous  or 
otherwise,  according  to  the  degree  in  which  the  events 
have  pleased  or  grieved  him.  At  this  stage,  he  will  be 
prompted  to  express  his  pleasure  or  grief ;  i.  e.,  his  emo- 
tions, and  while  doing  so,  in  order  to  manifest  his  reasons 
and  enforce  their  reasonableness  on  others,  he  will  be  led 
instinctively  to  imitate  the  expressions  or  appearances  of 
the  characters  to  whom  he  is  referring.  This,  at  last,  gives 
us  the  condition  requisite  to  dramatic  art — from  the  word 
dramo,  to  act.  In  this  form,  the  story  is  told,  not  with 
supreme  reference  to  the  point  or  moral,  as  in  the  epic,  or 
to  the  details  or  facts,  as  in  the  realistic,  but  to  the  effects 
produced  upon  thought  or  feeling,  and  to  the  way  in 
which  they  can  be  represented  in  action. 

Just  here  it  may  be  well  to  direct  attention  to  a  fact  for 
which  unnecessarily  elaborate  explanations  have  been 
given.  In  the  history,  not  only  of  literature,  but  of  almost 
all  art,  it  has  been  noticed  that,  well-nigh  invariably,  the 
epic  form  is  the  first  to  manifest  itself,  and  the  dramatic 
the  last.  In  the  light  of  the  illustrations  just  employed, 
it  must  be  evident  that  this  result  is  owing  to  the  very 
nature  of  the  epic  as  distinguished  from  the  dramatic. 
As  has  been  shown,  the  epic  narrative  is  the  first  result  of 
a  superficial  view.  A  man  catches  certain  inferences  from 
certain  scenes,  and  then  represents  these  scenes  in  such  a 
way  as  to  convey  the  same  inferences  to  others.  When  a 


316  ::,R£'P&£SENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

man,  so  to  speak,  is  in  the  epic  state,  his  mind  is  in  the 
attitude  of  mere  apprehension,  curiosity,  or  wonder.  Be- 
cause, as  a  rule,  the  minds  of  children  are  necessarily  in 
such  an  attitude,  we  find  that  the  stories  told  by  them  are 
generally  epic  in  character.  Nor  is  it  strange  that  the. 
same  form  should  prevail  in  the  childhood  of  the  race, 
before  men  acquire  habits  of  scrutiny  and  analysis. 

The  dramatic  form,  on  the  contrary,  is  necessarily  a 
later  result  of  observation.  No  child  resorts  to  mim- 
icry except  with  reference  to  scenes  with  which  he  has 
become  somewhat  familiar.  It  is  usually  the  mode  in 
which  he  echoes  an  old  opinion,  or  reiterates  an  old 
story.  There  is  a  reason,  therefore,  founded  on  the  very 
nature  of  things,  why  a  great  dramatist  like  Shakespeare 
should  appropriate  old  plots.  There  is  still  more  reason 
why  all  the  art  of  a  later  age  should  incline  toward  the 
dramatic.  Indeed,  it  is  a  question  whether  an  attempt  to 
write  in  the  epic  form  in  modern  times  among  people  who 
have  become  accustomed  to  a  large  exertion  of  individual 
thought  and  feeling  with  reference  to  everything  that  they 
observe,  has  not  some  tendency  in  the  direction  of  affecta- 
tion unbecoming  the  dignity  of  art.  Especially  are  we 
led  to  surmise  this  when  we  recall  that  the  highest  devel- 
opment of  the  epic  has  always  been  considered  to  be  the 
heroic,  and  that  the  highest  development  of  the  heroic 
deals  with  gods  and  goddesses.  Certainly  these  beings,  to 
whom  it  was  natural  to  refer  in  a  superstitious  age,  are 
very  unnatural  personages  to  introduce  into  a  poem  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  As  a  fact,  few  believe  in  them  now, 
and  to  pretend  to  believe  in  them  involves  an  attitude  of 
mind  not  naturally  expressive  of  the  race's  maturity. 
Not  that  the  less  mature  form  is  not  deserving  of  very 
great  admiration.  All  of  us  capable  of  tenderness  and 


RANK  OF  EPIC,    REALISTIC,   AND 


sympathy  regard  with  pleasurable  interest  and  fascination 
the  pranks  and  prattle  of  the  children.  But  we  should 
hardly  fascinate  the  household,  were  we  ourselves  to  imi- 
tate them.  A  different  form  of  expression  is  appropriate 
to  maturity. 

The  same  principle  is  true  in  art.  The  "  Inferno  "  and 
the  "  Paradise  Lost  "  are  great  as  epics  ;  but  they  are 
inferior  to  the  "  Iliad  "  ;  and,  proportionately,  perhaps, 
as  the  world  advances,  productions  that  are  epic  in  form 
will  be  less  and  less  successful.  This  is  not  the  same 
as  to  say  that  the  epic  is  artistically  inferior  to  either  of 
the  other  two,  or  to  claim  that  one  of  them,  as  Aristotle 
claimed  of  the  dramatic,  is  superior.  Take,  for  instance, 
the  rank  that  may  be  assigned  to  each  of  them,  owing 
to  the  nature  of  its  subject-matter.  As  judged  by  this 
alone  the  epic  should  apparently  rank  highest.  Taine,  in 
his  "  Ideal  in  Art,"  as  translated  by  J.  Durand,  points  out 
that  one  way  of  determining  the  relative  values  of  artistic 
products  is  by  the  degrees  of  importance  of  the  character 
delineated.  "  All  things  in  other  respects  being  equal," 
he  says,  "  according  as  the  character  set  forth  in  a  book  is 
more  or  less  important,  that  is  to  say  more  or  less  elemen- 
tary and  stable,  this  book  becomes  more  or  less  beautiful, 
and  you  will  see  the  layers  of  the  moral  strata  communi- 
cate to  the  literary  works  which  express  them  their  proper 
degree  of  power  and  duration.  .  .  .  On  the  surface  of 
man  are  grafted  manners,  ideas,  a  kind  of  character  which 
lasts  three  or  four  years,  such  as  that  of  fashion  and  the 
passing  hour.  .  .  .  Below  this  we  find  a  substratum  of  char- 
acter a  little  more  solid  ;  it  lasts  twenty,  thirty,  and  forty 
years,  about  the  half  of  an  historic  period.  .  .  .  We  have 
now  reached  the  substratum  of  the  third  order,  which  is 
very  vast  and  very  deep.  The  characters  composing  it 


3l8      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

last  a  whole  historic  period,  like  the  Middle  Ages,  the  Re- 
naissance, and  the  Classic  period."  Then  he  speaks  of  the 
characters  of  communities  and  of  races.  "  Finally,  at  the 
lowest  stage,  are  found  the  characters  peculiar  to  every 
superior  race  capable  of  spontaneous  civilization,  that  is 
to  say,  endowed  with  that  aptitude  for  general  ideas 
which  is  the  appanage  of  man,  and  which  leads  him  to 
found  societies,  religions,  philosophies,  and  arts  ;  similar 
dispositions  subsist  through  all  the  differences  of  race; 
and  the  physiological  diversities  which  master  the  rest 
do  not  succeed  in  affecting  them.  .  .  .  The  superior  rank 
and  the  first  importance  belong  to  the  most  stable  char- 
acters ;  and  if  these  are  more  stable,  it  is  that,  being  more 
elementary,  they  are  present  on  a  much  larger  surface  and 
are  swept  away  only  by  a  greater  revolution." 

The  truth  of  all  this,  so  far  as  it  goes,  no  one  would 
dispute.  To  apply  it  to  our  present  subject,  it  makes 
evident  that  of  the  three  forms  of  art  which  have  been 
mentioned,  the  epic,  having  for  its  purpose  to  give  em- 
bodiment to  general  ideas,  is  much  more  apt  to  occupy 
that  superior  rank  which  belongs  "  to  the  most  stable 
characters  .  .  .  present  on  a  much  larger  surface,"  and 
"  swept  away  only  by  a  greater  revolution."  Nothing 
certainly  can  be  more  important  or  stable  than  the  sub- 
lime and  grand  ideas  to  which  the  themes  of  the  highest 
forms  of  epic  art  are  allied.  Their  attractiveness,  depend- 
ing little  upon  transient,  definite,  and  local  conditions, 
may  be  felt  lastingly  and  universally  in  a  sense  that  is  not 
necessarily  true  of  realistic  or  dramatic  products.  These 
last  may  be  capable  of  exciting  greater  interest  in  the 
particular  age  and  country  for  which  they  are  written, 
but  because  of  the  different  phases  of  individual  char- 
acters and  customs  peculiar  to  different  periods  and 


RANK  OF  EPIC,   REALISTIC,   AND  DRAMATIC.      319 

nations,  their  subject-matter  is,  on  the  whole,  less  likely 
than  that  of  the  epic  to  awaken  general  and  permanent 
interest.  This  is  especially  true  of  the  products  of  real- 
istic art.  Their  subjects,  because  associated  almost  en- 
tirely with  the  local  and  the  transient,  are  exceptionally 
restricted  in  range  and  durability  of  influence. 

But  the  different  values  of  artistic  products,  besides 
being  determined  by  "the  degrees  of  importance  of  the 
character  delineated,"  may  be  determined,  according  to 
Taine,  by  the  u  beneficence  of  the  character."  "  At  the 
lowest  step  of  all,"  he  says,  "  are  the  types  preferred  by 
the  literature  of  realism  and  by  the  comic  drama  ;  i.  e.+ 
simpletons  and  egotists,  weak  and  inferior  natures."  .  .  . 
Next,  "  a  family  of  powerful  but  incomplete  types,  and 
generally  wanting  in  balance.  Some  passion,  some  faculty, 
some  disposition  or  other  of  mind  or  of  character  is  de- 
veloped in  them  with  enormous  accretion,  like  a  hyper- 
trophied  organ,  at  the  expense  of  the  rest,  amidst  all  sorts 
of  ravages  and  misfortunes.  Such  is  the  ordinary  theme 
of  dramatic  and  philosophic  literature.  .  .  .  Advancing 
a  step  farther,  we  encounter  complete  personages,  true 
heroes.  We  find  many  such  in  the  dramatic  and  philo- 
sophic literature  of  which  I  have,  just  spoken.  .  ..  .  But 
creations  truly  ideal  are  fertile  only  in  primitive  and 
simple  epochs." 

These  last  quotations  indicate  their  own  moral. 
Whether  we  classify  the  products  of  art  according  to  the 
degrees  of  the  beneficence  or  to  the  degrees  of  the  im- 
portance of  the  character,  we  arrive  at  the  same  result. 
So  far  as  concerns  the  significance  expressed  in  art,  the 
epic  has  what  we  may  term  the  greatest  natural  advan- 
tages. As  indicated  in  the  summary  on  page  311,  of  all 
subjects  that  can  be  treated,  its  are  the  most  nearly  allied 


320      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

to  sublimity.  Where  they  fall  short  of  this,  at  all  events 
they  are  generally  grand  and  dignified  ;  and  the  persons 
\vho  are  described,  whether  in  their  repulsions  or  attrac- 
tions, are,  as  a  rule,  heroic.  But  in  realistic  and  dramatic 
art,  a  fitful  sublimity  or  grandeur  is  soon  exhausted,  and 
instead  of  heroes  we  have  merely  heroism. 

Yet  from  what  has  been  said,  let  us  not  rush  to  the  con- 
clusion that,  therefore,  the  epic  is,  in  all  regards,  superior 
to  all  other  forms  of  art.  As  related  to  the  general  sub- 
ject-matter to  be  expressed,  this  form  certainly  possesses 
great  advantages.  But  we  must  remember  that  the  sub- 
ject-matter, or  theme,  is  only  one  requisite  of  art.  A 
second  feature  is  the  form  or  body  to  be  given  to  the 
theme  ;  and  this,  in  all  cases,  is  taken  from  the  world  of 
physical  reality,  as  made  prominent  in  the  realistic.  A 
third  feature,  too,  is  the  wray  in  which  the  form  or  body 
is  made  to  conform  to  individual  psychical  or  emotional 
requirements,  as  in  the  dramatic.  Or,  to  change  our 
phraseology,  art  involves  beauty  of  expression  ;  and  this, 
as  brought  out  in  Chapters  X.  to  XV.  of  "  Art  in  Theory," 
involves  the  fulfilment  of  requirements  emphasizing  some- 
times the  subject-matter,  as  in  the  epic  ;  sometimes  the 
appearances  of  nature  represented  in  the  form,  as  in  the 
realistic  ;  and  sometimes  the  way  in  which  the  subject- 
matter  has  taken  possession  of  the  representative  form,  as 
in  the  dramatic.  To  take  a  department  of  art  that  fulfils 
in  all  regards  only  one  of  these  requirements,  and  to  say 
that  it  alone  realizes  the  best  that  art  can  accomplish,  is 
evidently  unphilosophical.  Yet  we  probably  all  know 
many  who  do  this.  Some,  apparently  thinking  that 
nothing  can  have  the  highest  excellence  that  was  not 
originated  in  the  past,  assign  superiority  to  the  epic. 
Some,  apparently  hoping  to  convince  people  that  the 


RANK  OF  EPIC  REALISTIC  AND  DRAMATIC.      $21 

epic  work  of  Homer,  Dante,  or  Michael  Angelo,  or  the 
dramatic  work  of  Raphael,  Shakespeare,  or  Goethe,  is  in- 
ferior to  the  work  of  their  own  age,  if  not  to  their  own 
individual  work,  assign  superiority  to  the  realistic  ;  and 
some,  apparently  imagining  a  far  more  exclusive  interpre- 
tation of  the  words  of  the  poet  than  he  himself  conceived 
when  saying 

All  the  world  's  a  stage 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players 

— As  You  Like  It,  it,,  j  :  Shakespeare — 

rank  the  dramatic  highest.  It  certainly  seems  more  dis- 
criminating to  hold  that,  in  certain  circumstances,  each  of 
the  three  may  be  the  most  appropriate,  and  therefore  the 
most  successful  ;  for  there  are  times  and  ways  in  which 
each  influences  us  differently.  The  epic  artists,  Michael 
Angelo  and  Milton,  may  inspire  our  admiration  ;  but  not 
as  frequently  as  the  realistic  artists,  Teniers  and  Burns, 
do  they  stir  our  sympathies  ;  nor,  as  the  dramatic  artists, 
Raphael  and  Shakespeare,  broaden  our  enthusiasms. 

It  is  well,  also,  in  drawing  distinctions,  to  recognize 
that  our  classifications  should  not  themselves  be  made 
too  exclusive.  It  has  been  said  that  sublimity  is  a 
characteristic  of  the  thought  embodied  in  the  epic,  pic- 
turesqueness  of  that  in  the  realistic,  and  brilliancy  of  that 
in  the  dramatic.  But  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  there- 
fore any  one  of  these  forms  of  art  contains  merely  one  of 
these  qualities.  A  great  epic  product  must  be  sublime  ; 
a  great  realistic  one,  picturesque  ;  a  great  dramatic  one, 
brilliant  ;  but  in  every  epic  product,  especially  in  its  lower 
forms,  as,  for  instance,  in  the  metrical  romance,  there  is 
much  that  is  picturesque  and  brilliant  ;  and  in  every 
dramatic  product,  especially  in  its  higher  forms,  as  in 
tragedy,  there  U  much  that  is  sublime  and  picturesque. 


322      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

Therefore,  though  the  eternal,  infinite,  and  absolute  truth 
may  be  germane  to  the  epic,  there  are  instances  in  which 
both  realistic  and  dramatic  art  may  rise  to  it  ;  and  in 
art,  as  in  life,  a  high  result  attained  in  spite  of  natural 
disadvantages,  for  this  very  reason,  seems  deserving  of 
higher  commendation.  He  who  in  the  wisdom  of  mature 
life  still  retains  the  purity  of  childhood,  seems  doubly 
worthy  of  regard.  Why  should  not  the  same  be  true  of 
dramatic  or  realistic  art,  whenever  either  reveals  the 
nobler  range  of  thought  peculiar  to  the  epic  ? 

Possibly,  just  here,  some  reader  may  be  prompted  to 
ask  whether  the  distinctions  between  the  epic,  the  realis- 
tic, and  the  dramatic  that  have  been  made  in  this  chapter, 
are  really  necessary ;  whether  they  have,  after  all,  any 
practical  bearing.  The  answer  will  be  found  in  "  The 
Genesis  of  Art-Form,"  particularly  in  Chapters  VIII.  and 
IX.,  which  unfold  the  importance  in  art  of  producing  an 
impression  of  unity,  especially  through  congruity  between 
different  parts  of  the  thought  and  the  treatment.  An  art- 
product  that  is  neither  distinctly  epic,  realistic,  nor  drama- 
tic is  lacking  in  definiteness  of  form,  and  is  felt  to  be  so, 
and,  therefore,  its  effect  is  inartistic.  Wholly  satisfactory 
results  can  be  attained  by  the  artist  in  only  the  degree  in 
which  he  recognizes  clearly  both  the  limitations  and  the 
possibilities  that  distinguish  such  divisions  and  subdivis- 
ions of  art  in  general  as  are  to  be  considered  in  the  chapters 
following. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   EPIC,    REALISTIC,   AND    DRAMATIC   IN   POETRY. 

Epic,  Realistic  and  Dramatic  Subdivisions  in  All  the  Arts  —  Necessity  of 
Certain  New  Terms  for  Some  of  These — Chart  of — Definitions  of  the 
Epic  Derived  from  Combining  Previous  Definitions  —  Its  Symbolic 
Form  —  Allegoric  Form  —  The  Epic  Proper — Realistic  Poetry — Its 
Didactic  Form — Wide  Range  of — Its  Naturalistic  Form — Treating  of 
Natural  Scenery — With  not  Sufficient  Individualism  to  Awaken  Sym- 
pathy—  Yet  Nature  may  be  Made  Human  —  Narrative  Form  of  the 
Realistic  and  the  Ballad — The  Dramatic  as  Distinguished  especially 
from  the  Epic — Its  Subjective  Form  in  the  Lyric — How  Differing  from 
the  Didactic — The  Naturalistic  Narrative — The  Protactic,  a  New  Term 
— But  Needed  and  Applicable  ;  Illustrations — The  Drama. 

TT  will  avoid  repetition  and,  in  other  regards,  be  equally 
satisfactory  to  consider  in  the  different  arts  the  vari- 
ous exemplifications  of  the  Epic,  the  Realistic,  and  the 
Dramatic  forms  at  the  same  time  that  we  consider  in  the 
same  arts  certain  subdivisions  of  these  forms.  The  chart 
on  page  325  will  indicate  what  these  subdivisions  are. 

At  first  glance,  certain  arrangements  of  the  chart  may 
seem  fanciful ;  and  all  the  more  so,  inasmuch  as  some  of  the 
terms  employed  are  new.  But  this  latter  fact,  as  will  be 
made  clear  presently,  was  unavoidable.  For  instance,  in 
the  art  of  poetry,  which  we  shall  consider  first,  the  names 
of  the  different  styles,  still  preserved  in  all  our  works 
upon  the  subject,  have  been  handed  down  from  a  time 
anterior  to  the  existence  of  some  of  the  forms  which  are 
now  the  most  popular,  as  Robert  Browning's  "  The 
Ring  and  the  Book,"  Mrs.  Browning's,  "  Aurora  Leigh," 

323 


324      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM.. 

Tennyson's  "  Princess,"  Robert  Bulwer  Lytton's  "  Lucile," 
Byron's  "  Corsair,"  and  a  host  of  others  too  numerous  to 
mention.  Strictly  speaking,  these  are  neither  epic,  lyric, 
pastoral,  elegiac,  didactic,  dramatic,  descriptive,  nor  satiric. 
Great  artists  and  great  schools  of  artists  originate  new 
forms.  Why  should  not  critics  designate  these  by  new 
terms?  Aside  from  this  fact  too,  the  ordinary  terms,  such 
as  have  just  been  quoted,  exemplify  no  single  principle  of 
classification.  What,  for  instance,  is  to  hinder  the  dramatic 
from  being  satiric?  the  pastoral  from  being  descriptive? 
or  the  elegiac  from  being  didactic?  One  need  not  dwell 
upon  these  questions.  Their  answer  is  evident. 

In  order  to  show  the  general  connection  of  the  chart 
with  the  development  of  the  thought  in  the  chapters  im- 
mediately preceding  this,  notice  the  following  repetition 
of  the  summaries  already  given  in  them. 

Significance  in  Representative  Form  according  as  its  Tendency  is 


Religious 

'  J 

Instinctive 

Subjective 

and            f      Idealism 

Scientific 

rt 

Reflective 

rt 

Relative 

is 

Realism 

'C 
o    • 

a   • 

. 

or 

or 

or 

1 

or 

expressed 

.5 

d 

Idealized- 

Artistic 

.a" 

Emotive 

I 

Objective 

in              I.      realism 

Religious-      "]    £  o  o  f  the  Good 

Artistic     'D  fte  ' 
Scientific-       i    g  <5'" 

Artistic  '  ^  l-— 


the  Sublime  the  Grand 

the  Picturesque  the  Simple 

Artistic-          j    £  $  >  i 

Artistic  J  H  g.'*'  (.  the  Beautiful      the  Brilliant  tl 


the  True 


("Epic 

j  Realistic 
or 


Let  us  turn  now  to  the  chart  on  page  325,  and  con- 
sider, first,  the  subdivisions  in  poetry  of  the  epic  form. 
"According  to  Aristotle,"  says  Quackenbos  in  his  "  Rhe- 
toric," "the  plot  of  an  epic  must  be  important  in  itself 
and  instructive  in  the  reflections  it  suggests  ;  must  be 


SUBDIVISIONS   OF  ART- FORMS 

ti  S  a^  i.      a  S- 


K  "3,5        w 

0       Sg  «      C  « 

19 

D   g^u,   «   u 

0 

*s-s'*  1      1 

ffii|l  §i 

^  a*-!  43      o  « 

O               P^ 

>   0 

">  E 
u  o 

O^^^^H 

I 

> 

«:§             "g      ^°§- 

ii    1  11* 

2     o    .a 

3        J2         tfl 

fi     «    g 

.s      g      § 

I 

I        1 

a                  £ 

)ramatic 
Proper 

U  CO                   <              ffi^ 

<      ^     55 

o 

P^ 

O 

,53 

«     o    .a 

s 

o 

55  -T*                   IH         rt        o 

ft       1  |l* 

w 

8     8    1 

p    1    | 

s 

8           's 

13               2 

s      1 

rt  J> 

E  §• 
1* 

>. 
u  -2               « 

1  M  o     .a 

eH     1 

o 
'So 

o 

| 

s  1            fe             B 
fe                            c^ 

86fl      2 

U          (U              3 

:  ^  i 

J 
1 
•< 

1                 1 
O 

O 

« 

0 

S|             1      ill 
h  "S                bo       o,oft( 
u   6             jjf      Kgo 

i  i  ii 

ts    «    -as, 

«       _,        ^  -r 

s    8      £  u 

V 

> 
rt 

S3 

y 

!     ! 

rt 

Q 
V 

^       ffiw 

* 

H 

sjay  asaqj  jo  qo 

B3  ui  suoisiAipqng  ai 

{}  sdopAap 

ApAijoadsaj  i{OB3 

.H 

o 
'S 

•a 

i 

a 
E 

M 

2 

2 

Pi 

n 

3^  ui  Xouapua  j. 

ai{j  ui  Aouapuax 

amuiAouap 

-X 

!«'      5S-a    o^ 

u 

.Jj 

-S        .g 

s«    *  -s 

4?. 

13  '"'a,     2.S^3      2-n  E 

oivW   .gj.8    t:  y  2 

PH  CD                                      ^ 

'So^'S.     c.S^ 

'"H    ||| 

.22-3  E 

£  £  2 

§  >  0      .3  v  tn 

1^  111 

&j    *z« 

.3-58 
2  «  9 

«£Q 

O 

326      XEPAESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

filled  with  suitable  incidents,  as  well  as  enlivened  with  a 
variety  of  characters  and  descriptions  ;  and  must  retain 
throughout  propriety  of  character  and  elevation  of  style." 
Besides  this,  Hart  in  his  4k  Rhetoric  "  maintains  that  the 
44  epic  should  have  a  hero."  But  a  clearer  idea  of  this 
form  is  conveyed  in  Long's  4<  Art,  its  Laws,  and  the  Rea- 
sons for  Them."  Quoting  Blair's  definition  in  his  44  Rhe- 
toric "  that  it  is  the  "  illustrating  of  some  great  and  gen- 
eral idea  in  verse,"  he  goes  on  to  say :  "  This  we  adopt 
as  the  best  that  we  can  find,  as  in  the  definition  we  dis- 
cover the  great  characteristic  difference  between  epic  and 
dramatic  writing,  *  the  tragedy  of  which,'  says  Mr.  Blair, 
'  has  for  its  object  compassion,  and  the  comedy  of  it 
ridicule.'  The  epic  is  further  distinguished  from  the 
drama  by  the  broad  and  liberal  manner  in  which  every- 
thing is  conducted,  by  its  admitting  no  discrimination  of 
character,  nothing,  in  short,  that  is  individually  character- 
istic, other  than  as  that  individual  trait  illustrates  the 
leading  idea  of  the  poem,  as  exemplified  in  the  parting 
scene  between  Hector  and  Andromache  in  the  Iliad,  a 
poem  whose  subject  is  4War,' — it  being  there  admitted, 
not  to  exhibit  a  phase  of  the  character  of  Hector  and 
Andromache,  but  because  such  scenes  constitute  a  fea- 
ture in  all  warlike  operations.  .  .  .  No  character  is 
discriminated  but  where  discrimination  discovers  a  new 
look  of  war ;  no  passion  is  raised  but  what  is  blown  up 
by  the  breath  of  war,  and  as  soon  absorbed  in  its  uni- 
versal blaze.  As  in  a  conflagration  we  see  turrets  and  spires 
and  temples  illuminated  only  to  propagate  the  horrors  of 
destruction,  so  through  the  stormy  page  of  Homer  we 
see  his  heroes  and  his  heroines  only  by  the  light  that 
blasts  them."  All  this  accords,  as  will  be  recognized, 
with  what  was  said  of  the  epic  in  Chapter  XVIII.,  namely, 


EPIC  POETRY.  327 

that  it  is  the  illustrating  of  a  great  idea  or  spiritual 
principle  through  forms  that  are  typical  of  the  general 
nature  of  its  influence.  Without  further  comment,  every 
one  will  recognize  this  characteristic  in  the  heroic  or  epic 
proper,  as  exemplified  in  such  poems  as  the  "Iliad," 
"Mneid,"  and  "Paradise  Lost." 

But  before  we  take  up  the  epic  proper,  let  us  consider 
the  two  other  forms  into  which,  in  the  chart  on  page  325, 
the  epic  is  subdivided.  The  first  of  these,  the  most  sub- 
jective form,  is  termed  the  symbolic.  The  following,  for 
instance,  reads  as  if  intended  to  be  an  accurate  description* 
of  what  we  all  recognize  to  be  a  symbolic  painting : 

The  Register  that  np  this  order  drew 
Is  Time  itself  dad  all  in  azure  Mae, 
Winged  like  an  angel,  shadowed  with  a  Tefle, 
And  T rath  his  daughter  bearing  up  his  trafle, 
Nobly  attended  with  a  Lady  kind. 
More  quick  and  nimble  than  the  swift  foot  hind. 
Within  his  month  a  lofty  Tmmpe  did  stand. 
And  a  sharp  scythe  or  sickle  in  his  hand. 

The  Glasse  of  Timit :   Thomas  Peyton. 

This  may  properly  be  termed  symbolic  poetry ;  and,  as 
most  of  us  will  recall,  it  characterizes  many  so-called  epics, 
especially  those  whose  writers  affect  what  is  called  the 
classic  style.  It  is,  perhaps,  impossible  for  it  to  predomi- 
nate throughout  a  long  product ;  but  we  find  an  immense 
amount  of  it  not  only  in  real  epics,  but  in  such  as  are 
merely  didactic  poems  with  epic  passages,  like  Pollok's 
"  Course  of  Time  "  and  Peyton's  "  Glasse  of  Time."  Be- 
sides this  form  of  poetry,  however,  another,  not  at  all 
classic  in  the  sense  just  indicated,  is  also  called  symbolic. 
It  is  a  form  mainly  used  in  France  in  an  endeavor  to  ex- 
press through  words  more  than  the  words  themselves  ex- 
press,— a  perfectly  proper  endeavor  except  where  it  is 


328      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

supposed  to  be  a  sufficient  excuse  for  hinting  at  all  sorts 
and  degrees  of  triviality  through  all  sorts  and  degrees  of 
vagueness, — in  fact  for  violating  the  very  first  condition 
of  poetic  art,  which  is  that  it  should  be  constructed  of 
words  and  phrases,  which  are  not  mere  sounds  but  sounds 
with  definite  meanings.  The  only  justifiable  symbolism 
constructed  upon  the  principle  which  the  French  have  in 
mind,  is  that  which  conveys,  through  a  perfectly  appre- 
hended surface-meaning,  a  profounder  meaning  which  is 
not  upon  the  surface,  as  in  the  following  representation  of 
an  idealist : 

"Whom  lovest  thou  best,  enigmatical  man,  say,  thy  father,  thy  mother, 
thy  sister,  or  thy  brother?" 

"  I  have  neither  father  nor  mother  nor  sister  nor  brother." 

"  Thy  friends?" 

"  You  use  there  a  word  whose  sense  has  to  this  day  remained  unknown  to 
me." 

"  Thy  fatherland  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  in  what  latitude  it  is  situated." 

"Beauty?" 

"  I  would  fain  love  it,  godlike  and  immortal." 

"Gold?" 

"  I  hate  it  as  you  hate  God." 

"  Eh?     What  lovest  thou  then,  extraordinary  stranger?" 

"I  love  the  clouds  ...  the  clouds  that  pass  .  .  .  over  there 
.  .  .  the  marvellous  clouds." 

The  Stranger  :  Baudelaire,  tr.  by  Stuart  Merrill. 

From  "  Pastels  in  Prose"     Copyright  1890  by  Harper  6°  Brothers. 

In  English  poetry,  effects  resembling  this  are  uncommon, 
and,  of  course,  difficult  to  find,  which  is  a  sufficient  ex- 
cuse for  using  the  following.  It  appears  to  tell  of  a  love 
experience,  and,  like  the  forms  of  a  symbolic  painting,  the 
words  are  intelligible,  if  accepted  as  referring  to  this  alone* 
But  they  mean  more.  They  are  symbolic  of  a  universal 
law  of  human  life,  namely,  that,  to  be  successful,  a  man 
while  following  to  some  extent  his  own  ideals,  must  also 


SYMBOLIC  POETRY.  329 

avail  himself  of  his  opportunities,  and  accommodate  his 
ideals  to  them.  But  in  the  poem  this  general  principle  is 
suggested,  not  stated  : 

She  came  ;  and  I  who  lingered  there, 
I  saw  that  she  was  very  fair  ; 
And,  with  my  sighs  that  pride  suppressed, 
There  rose  a  trembling  wish  for  rest. 

But  I,  who  had  resolved  to  be 

The  maker  of  my  destiny, 

I  turned  me  to  my  task  and  wrought, 

And  so  forgot  the  passing  thought. 

She  paused  ;  and  I  who  questioned  there, 
I  heard  she  was  as  good  as  fair  ; 
And  in  my  soul  a  still  small  voice 
Enjoined  me  not  to  check  my  choice. 

But  I,  who  had  resolved  to  be 

The  maker  of  my  destiny, 

I  bade  the  gentle  guardian  down, 

And  tried  to  think  about  renown. 

She  left ;  and  I  who  wander  fear 
There  's  nothing  more  to  see  or  hear  ; 
Those  walls  that  ward  my  Paradise 
Are  very  high,  nor  open  twice. 

And  I,  who  had  resolved  to  be 

The  maker  of  my  destiny, 

Can  only  wait  without  the  gate, 

And  sit  and  sigh — "  Too  late  !  too  late  ! " 

The  Destiny -Maker  :  G.  L.  Raymond. 

The  question  is  not  whether  this  kind  of  poetry  is  sym- 
bolic, but  whether  it  should  be  termed  so  by  way  of 
distinction.  If,  as  brought  out  in  Chapters  X.  and  XL,  all 
art  should  present  arguments  from  analogy,  verses  like 
these,  so  far  as  the  symbolic  means  the  representing 
of  the  general  through  the  special,  do  no  more  than  all 
poetry  should  do,  if  of  an  artistic  quality.  Moreover,  is 
there  not  a  clear  distinction  between  symbolizing  a  truth, 


330      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

as  these  verses  do,  through  phraseology  that  is  perfectly 
intelligible  even  if  no  symbolism  be  detected  in  it,  and 
symbolizing  the  same  through  personifications  like  those 
of  Time  and  Truth  in  the  quotation  preceding  the  last, — 
personifications  involving  phraseology  the  very  first  mean- 
ing of  which,  as  all  recognize,  is  symbolic?  And  if  so, 
are  we  not  justified  in  confining  the  term  symbolic  to  such 
•cases;  and  in  allowing  the  more  subordinate  and  com- 
paratively incidental  symbolic  method  illustrated  in  the 
quotation  on  page  329  to  be  termed,  in  accordance  with 
one  or  another  of  the  principles  to  be  unfolded  hereafter, 
either  realistic  or  lyric  ? 

The  next  subdivision  of  epic  poetry,  the  allegoric,  is  epic 
in  the  sense  that  in  it,  too,  the  general  truth  that  is  illus- 
trated— and  it  is  usually  a  religious  or  moral  truth — aside 
from  the  details  through  which  it  is  represented,  is  of 
primary  importance.  The  "  Faerie  Queen  "  of  Spenser, 
which  is  usually  classed  as  a  metrical  romance,  was  de- 
signed, according  to  its  author, ."  to  fashion  a  gentleman 
or  noble  person  in  virtues  and  gentle  discipline."  In  it, 
the  twelve  private  moral  virtues  are  represented  in  the 
persons  of  twelve  knights,  and  their  various  adventures 
are  designed  to  teach  lessons  with  reference  to  these 
virtues.  In  the  same  sense,  too,  though  humorous,  "  The 
Dunciad,"  by  Pope,  in  which  he  depicted  the  fate  of  the 
literary  dunces  of  his  period,  is  an  allegorical  form  of  the 
epic. 

Under  the  epic  proper,  besides  the  great  poems  men- 
tioned on  page  327,  we  may  place  Tennyson's  "  Idyls  of 
the  King."  It  should  be  said,  however,  that  the  idyls  of 
Theocritus,  which  suggested  the  title,  were  less  epic  than 
realistic ;  and  parts  of  them  were  also,  to  some  extent, 
lyric.  Like  Tennyson's  "  Dora,"  they  treat  of  simple 


REALISTIC  POETRY.  331 

stories  of  natural  life.  The  "  Idyls  of  the  King,"  on  the 
contrary,  treat  distinctively  of  heroes,  living  in  a  super- 
natural atmosphere,  and  by  their  conduct  representing, 
in  accordance  with  what  was  said  on  page  312,  the  in- 
fluence, upon  typical  persons  and  events,  of  great  ideas 
and  spiritual  principles.  See  the  quotation  from  "  Morte 
d'Arthur"  on  page  458.  Therefore  though,  owing  to  the 
less  emphasized  unity  of  the  plot,  this  poem  perhaps 
must  rank  with  the  "Odyssey"  of  Homer  rather  than 
with  his  "  Iliad,"  or  with  the  "  ^Eneid,"  the  "Divine 
Comedy,"  or  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  it  must  nevertheless  be 
classed  as  epic. 

Under  the  general  head  of  realistic  poetry  one  may  in- 
clude all  that  large  class  in  which  characters,  scenes,  or 
events  are  treated  as  if  interesting  chiefly  on  account  of 
what  they  are  seen  to  be  in  themselves  without  reference 
to  the  general  idea  which  their  appearances  illustrate,  as 
in  the  epic,  or  to  the  special  characteristics  which  their 
actions  manifest,  as  in  the  dramatic.  Undoubtedly  the 
realistic,  in  some  of  its  forms,  because  so  nearly  allied  to 
the  scientific,  is  not  supremely  artistic.  Nevertheless,  it 
is  the  most  common  form  of  poetry,  the  works  even  of  the 
greatest  poets  being  full  of  passages  exemplifying  it. 

The  religious  or  subjective  development  of  this  form  is 
found  in  what  is  known  as  the  didactic.  This  term,  applied 
to  poetry  that  deals  with  what  is  true  or  real  in  principle 
as  well  as  in  illustration,  is  derived  from  a  Greek  word 
meaning  to  teach;  and  in  the  chart  it  is  indicated  that  the 
didactic  is  not  a  legitimate  form  of  poetry  except  when  it 
is  also  descriptive  in  the  sense  of  naturalistic  or  narrative, 
which  conception  is  paralleled  by  indicating  that  except 
when  also  naturalistic,  the  decorative  does  not  belong  to 
the  art  of  painting  nor  the  architectural  to  the  art  of 


332      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

sculpture.  This  is  the  same  as  to  indicate  that  the  didac- 
tic is  not  a  legitimate  form  of  poetry,  nor  the  decorative 
of  painting,  nor  the  architectural  of  sculpture,  except  so 
far  as  it  is  made  so  through  an  accompanying  and  dis- 
tinctively artistic  method  of  treatment.  In  poetry,  for 
instance,  it  is  the  descriptive  or  narrative  illustrations  that 
make  the  didactic  acceptable.  Notice  this  fact  as  exem- 
plified in  these  verses  : 

Man,  like  the  generous  vine,  supported  lives  ; 
The  strength  he  gains  is  from  the  embrace  he  gives. 

Essay  on  Man,  Hi.  :  Pope. 

The  fiery  soul  abhorred  in  Catiline, 
In  Decius  charms,  in  Curtius  is  divine : 
The  same  ambition  can  destroy  or  save, 
And  makes  a  patriot  as  it  makes  a  knave. 

Idem,  ii. 

Again  the  following  didactic  lines— didactic  because  the 
lesson  in  them  is  indicated  so  clearly — exhibit  as  much 
imagination — but  not  art — as  they  might  do  if  presented 
in  an  epic  or  dramatic  form  : 

Self-love  but  serves  the  virtuous  mind  to  wake, 
As  the  small  pebble  stirs  the  peaceful  lake  ; 
The  centre  moved,  a  circle  straight  succeeds, 
Another  still,  and  still  another  spreads  ; 
Friend,  parent,  neighbor,  first  it  will  embrace ; 
His  country  next,  and  next  all  human  race  ; 
Wide  and  more  wide,  th'  o'erflowings  of  the  mind 
Take  every  creature  in  of  every  kind  : 
Earth  smiles  around,  with  boundless  bounty  blest, 
And  heaven  beholds  its  image  in  his  breast. 

Essay  on  Man,  iv.  :  Pope. 

The  very  wide  range  of  didactic  poetry  includes  most 
discoursiveand  meditative  products,  such  as  Horace's  "Art 
of  Poetry,"  Pope's  "Essay  on  Man,"  Cowper's  "Task," 


DIDACTIC  POETRY.  333 

Young's  "  Night  Thoughts,"  Campbell's  "  Pleasures  of 
Hope,"  and  Akenside's  "  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination." 
In  all  of  these  the  subject-matter  seems  intended  to  cause 
reflection  and  awaken  thought  according  to  the  methods 
of  logic  fully  as  much  as  to  cause  perception  and  appeal 
to  the  sympathies  according  to  the  methods  of  analogy. 
In  fact,  one  might  almost  hold  that  this  poetry  necessitates 
a  scientific  action  of  mind  fully  as  much  as  an  artistic. 
But  though  this  be  true  of  its  subject-matter,  the  treat- 
ment is  often  poetically  redeemed,  as  has  just  been  exem- 
plified, by  the  descriptions  or  narratives  that  illustrate  the 
subject-matter. 

Of  the  other  developments  of  realistic  poetry,  we  come 
first  to  that  which  in  the  chart  is  termed  naturalistic. 
This  term  is  preferred  to  descriptive  (which  sometimes  in- 
cludes the  narrative),  because  naturalistic  is  not  quite  so 
indefinite  in  its  meaning  as  applied  to  poetry,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  can  be  applied  to  corresponding  developments 
in  the  arts  of  sight.  Of  the  naturalistic,  we  may  make  two 
divisions: — the  one,  of  works  that  do  not  treat  of  the 
aspects  of  human  life ;  and  the  other,  of  works  that  do. 
Some  of  the  critics  foreign  to  England  have  argued  that 
compositions  such  as  are  particularly  characteristic  of  that 
country — compositions  which  do  not  treat  of  human  life 
but  only  of  natural  scenery — are  not  legitimate  to  the  art 
of  poetry.  But  this  is  going  too  far.  Such  poetry  may  not 
appeal  strongly  to  the  aesthetic  tastes  of  all.  But  the 
reason  for  this  may  be  the  same  that  prevents  much  of 
the  art  of  landscape-gardening,  as  developed  in  England, 
from  appealing  to  all.  Just  why  it  is  a  fact  would  be 
difficult  to  determine,  but  it  is  a  fact  that  to  commune 
with  nature  exactly  as  it  reveals  itself  seems  more  ger- 
mane to  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind  than  to  any  other.  One 


334      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

seldom  sees  in  England  the  clipping  of  trees  into  artificial 
shapes  that  one  finds  in  the  parks  of  the  continent  of 
Europe  ;  nor,  on  the  continent,  such  a  degree  of  adapta- 
tion of  roadways  and  walks  to  the  lay  of  the  land,  as  in 
England.  At  the  same  time  the  naturalistic  tendency 
in  poetry  may  be  carried  to  inartistic 'extremes.  Owing 
probably  to  a  certain  phase  of  influence  exerted  by 
Thomson,  Wordsworth,  and  Tennyson,  it  is  not  too- 
much  to  say  that,  frequently,  among  English-speaking 
people,  the  supreme  test  applied  to  new  poetry  is  the 
degree  of  accuracy  with  which  the  words  that  are  used 
depict  the  objects  of  nature  to  which  they  refer — ;'.  ^.,  do 
approximately  what  a  painter  does  when  imitating  in  line 
and  color.  To  do  this  undoubtedly  involves  an  artistic 
use  of  language ;  but  it  does  not  involve,  as  some  of  these 
critics  evidently  suppose,  the  only  nor  even  the  most  artis- 
tic use  of  it.  In  neither  the  Bible  nor  in  Greek  or  Latin 
poetry  is  there  much  descriptive  language  of  this  kind. 
The  most  important  element  in  rendering  language  artistic 
is  that  which  makes  it  imaginative ;  and  it  becomes  this 
through  imaging  in  material  form  spiritual  —  by  which 
is  meant  both  intellectual  and  emotional — conceptions. 
Accurate  descriptions  of  nature  may  make  the  material 
form  of  the  image  seem  more  natural,  and  therefore 
more  artistically  effective,  and  thus  cause  it  to  fulfil  an 
important  function  as  a  means  to  an  end.  But  they  are 
not  an  end  in  themselves,  as  they  evidently  are  supposed 
to  be  by  the  writer  of  the  following: 

Fiercely  the  gaunt  woods  to  the  grim  soil  cling 

That  bears  for  all  fair  fruits, 

Wan  wild  sparse  flowers  of  windy  and  wintry  spring 

Between  the  tortive  serpent-shapen  roots, 

Where  through  their  dim  growth  hardly  strikes  and  shoots 

And  shews  one  gracious  thing  ; 


NATURALISTIC  POETRY.  335. 

Hardly,  to  speak  for  summer  one  sweet  word 

Of  summer's  self  scarce  heard. 

But  higher  the  steep  green  sterile  fields,  thick-set 

"With  flowerlos  hawthorn  even  to  the  upward  verge 

Whence  the  woods  gathering  watch  new  cliffs  emerge 

Higher  than  their  highest  of  crowns  that  sea-winds  fret, 

Hold  fast,  for  all  that  night  and  day  can  say, 

Some  pale  pure  color  yet, 

Too  dim  for  green  and  luminous  for  gray. 

On  the  Cliffs  :  Swinburne. 

For  in  no  deeps  of  midmost  inland  May 

More  flower-bright  flowers  the  hawthorn,  or  more  sweet 

Swells  the  wild  gold  of  the  earth  for  wandering  feet  ; 

For  on  no  northland  way 

Crowds  the  close  whin-bloom  closer,  set  like  thee 

With  thorns  about  for  fangs  of  sea-rock  shown 

Through  blithe  lips  of  the  bitter  brine  to  lea  ; 

Nor  blithelier  landward  comes  the  sea-wind  blown, 

Nor  blithelier  leaps  the  land-wind  back  to  sea. 

The  Garden  of  Cymodoce  :  Swinburne. 

The  interest  in  this  form  of  poetry  resembles  too  nearly 
that  which  one  takes  in  a  curio.  The  natural  scene  or 
object  described  is  treated  as  the  central  point  of  atten- 
tion, and  about  this  the  mind  is  made  to  work  according 
to  the  method  of  the  artisan  rather  than  of  the  artist.  In 
that  highest  form  of  art  which  we  find  in  the  humanities, 
the  human  mind  is  at  the  centre,  and  the  natural  objects 
described  are  made  to  revolve  around  it,  and  are  kept 
subordinate  to  it.  We  are  all  familiar  with  this  method 
as  exemplified  in  such  poems  as  Bryant's  "  Thanatopsis," 
Thomson's  "  Seasons,"  and  Wordsworth's  "  Prelude  "  and 
"  Excursion."  It  may  be  well,  however,  before  directing 
attention  to  the  illustration  of  the  method  in  the  follow- 
ing quotation,  to  say  that  the  poetry  of  Wordsworth  is 
exceedingly  difficult  to  classify.  The  thought,  though 


336      REPRESENTA  T2VE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

suggested  by  nature,  shows  a  constant  tendency  to  tran- 
scend its  limitations  as  in  the  epic.  In  fact,  we  often  feel 
like  classing  him  with  Milton.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
his  ode  entitled  "  Intimations  of  Immortality"  and  other 
of  his  shorter  poems  are  distinctly  lyrical.  The  main 
body  of  his  work,  however,  seems  to  be  about  equally 
divided  among  all  three  forms  —  i.  e.,  the  didactic,  the 
naturalistic,  and  the  narrative  —  of  the  realistic,  e.  g.  : 

Earth  hath  not  anything  to  show  more  fair  ; 

Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 

A  sight  so  touching  in  his  majesty  : 
The  city  now  doth  like  a  garment  wear 
The  beauty  of  the  morning  ;  silent,  bare. 

Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie 

Open  unto  the  fields  and  to  the  sky, 
All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air. 
Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 

In  his  first  splendor,  valley,  rock,  or  hill ; 
Ne'er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep  ! 

The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will : 
Dear  God  !  the  very  houses  seem  asleep  ; 

And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still  ! 

Sonnet  on  Westminster  Bridge  :   Wordsworth. 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  follows  necessarily  that  the 
objection  mentioned  on  page  333  does  not  apply  to  that 
form  of  naturalistic  art  which  treats  of  human  life, — a  fact 
which  may  be  illustrated  by  recalling  Goldsmith's  "  De- 
serted Village,"  Burns's  "Cotter's  Saturday  Night," 
Byron's  "  Childe  Harold,"  Campbell's  "  Gertrude  of  Wyo- 
ming," or  Beattie's  "  Minstrel."  Of  course,  too,  the  reason 
why  such  poems  cannot  be  classed  with  the  narrative  form 
of  the  epic  is  because  there  is  no  single  general  idea  under- 
lying their  plots  which,  as  in  the  epic,  is  the  determining 
cause  of  the  whole  and  of  which  the  different  facts  nar- 
rated are  merely  so  many  illustrations.  On  the  contrary, 
the  facts  themselves  often  suggest  the  ideas,  e.g.: 


NARRATIVE   POETRY.  337 

From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs, 
That  makes  her  loved  at  home,  revered  abroad  : 

Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings, 
"  An  honest  man  's  the  noblest  work  of  God." 

And  certes  in  fair  virtue  s  heavenly  road, 
The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind  ; 

What  is  a  lordling's  pomp?  —  a  cumbrous  load, 
Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human  kind, 
Studied  in  arts  of  hell,  in  wickedness  refined  ! 

Cotter's  Saturday  Night :  Burns. 

Burns  is  essentially  a  realistic  poet.     Let  us  recognize  him 
as  such. 

The  last  and  most  artistic  form  of  realistic  poetry  is  the 
narrative,  including  works  like  Chaucer's  "  Canterbury 
Tales  "  and  Morris's  "  Earthly  Paradise,"  as  well  as  almost 
everything  cast  in  the  ancient  form  of  the  ballad.  This 
latter  form,  by  the  way,  is  often  misunderstood.  Psycho- 
logically, it  is  the  result  of  such  interest  in  successive 
details  that  the  writer  has  no  inclination  to  stop  in  order 
to  express  his  own  opinions  or  feelings  with  reference  to 
them.  This  mood  gives  simplicity  to  the  style  and  con- 
sequent speed  to  the  movement,  and  makes  any  expression 
at  all  which  is  strictly  subjective  rather  than  relative 1  in  its 
character  entirely  out  of  place.  Modern  poetry,  as  devel- 
oped by  Keats  and  Byron  and  their  followers,  has  seldom 
been  characterized  by  this  form  of  simplicity,  and  this  is 
the  reason  why  so  few  modern  ballads  are  successful,  not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  attempts  to  write  them  are 
carried  often  to  the  extreme  of  artificiality.  Even  if  a 
writer  of  the  present  does  express  the  ballad  spirit  in  the 
only  style  that  would  be  natural  to  a  narrator  of  the  unro- 
mantic  homespun  period  that  he  is  representing,  he  is 
more  than  likely  to  be  accused  of  writing  doggerel,  notwith- 
standing that  almost  every  page  contains  lines  like  these : 

1  See  page  273. 


338      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

God  guided  it  and  us,  alas, 
But  how  he  scorch'd  our  heaven  to  pass 
His  finger  through  the  skies  ! 

Our  First  Break  -with  the  British  :  G.  L.  Raymond. 

And  they  forgot,  we  mountaineers, 

High  rangers,  like  the  Swiss, 
Had  learn'd  to  value  freedom's  world 

By  looking  down  on  this  ! 

Too  few  were  they  to  brave  a  fort 

Well  mann'd  at  every  gun  ; 
Yet  those  who  slight  the  light  of  stars 

But  seldom  see  their  sun. 

Ethan  Allen  :  Idem. 

Other  illustrations  of  the  various  forms  of  realistic 
poetry  will  be  given  in  connection  with  what  is  to  be  said 
now  of  dramatic  poetry. 

"  In  our  analysis  of  *  the  epic/  "  says  Mr.  Long,  in  his 
"Art,  its  Laws,  and  the  Reasons  for  Them,"  "  we  stated 
that  the  business  of  both  the  epic  poet  and  the  epic  painter 
was  the  illustrating  of  some  great  general  idea,  and  that 
to  this  everything  else  was  subordinate.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  avowed  object  of  both  the  dramatic  writer  and 
painter  is  to  exhibit  character,  to  develop  the  passions,  to 
lay  open  the  heart,  and  to  excite  in  every  bosom  corre- 
sponding emotions.  Whatever,  therefore,  by  reflected 
self-love,  inspires  us  with  hope,  fear,  pity,  terror,  love,  or 
mirth,  is  the  legitimate  sphere  of  both  the  dramatic  poet 
and  painter."  It  is  in  strict  accordance  with  this  that  it 
has  been  said  that  the  dramatic,  in  distinction  from  the 
epic,  which  is  the  illustrating  of  a  great  idea  or  spiritual 
principle  through  forms  that  are  typical  of  the  general 
nature  of  its  influence,  is  the  impersonating  of  individual 


LYRIC  POETRY,  339 

character,  as  manifested  in  action  excited  both  from  within 
the  mind  and  from  without  it. 

The  subjective  form  of  the  dramatic  seems  to  be  the  lyric. 
This  term  is  derived  from  the  same  word  as  the  term  lyre, 
and  originally  was  applied  to  poetry  composed  to  be 
accompanied  by  the  lyre ;  and,  as  a  fact,  was  usually 
accompanied  by  both  music  and  dancing.  In  other 
words,  it  was  composed  to  be  used  in  a  primitive  form  of 
acting.  Hence  it  seems  right  to  infer  an  organic  connec- 
tion between  it  and  the  drama.  "  Lyric  poetry,"  says 
Chaignet,  in  his  "  Les  Principes  de  la  Science  du  Beau,'* 
"appears  to  us  to  be  a  subdivision  of  dramatic  poetry; 
for  it  consists,  as  appears  to  us,  eminently  in  action.  The 
ode  is  the  form  which  takes  words  to  express  a  solitary 
action  of  a  single  actor,  at  least  most  frequently."  In 
addition  to  this,  Chaignet  might  have  said  that  the  lyric 
not  only  represents  action — the  epic  does  the  same — but, 
like  the  soliloquy,  it  represents  character,  and  character 
under  excitement  moving  on  from  the  expression  of  one 
emotion  to  that  of  another.  It  will  be  understood,  of 
course,  as  was  brought  out  in  Chapter  XIII.,  that  emotion 
is  expressed  in  all  forms  of  art ;  but  in  the  artistic-artistic 
phase  of  it  represented  in  the  dramatic  form,  the  emo- 
tional effects  are  particularly  emphasized.  The  term  lyric 
cry  is  often  used  by  critics.  What  does  this  indicate  except 
a  recognition  that,  in  this  form  of  poetry,  the  soul,  as  in 
the  case  of  one  crying  out  in  excitement,  is  over-mastered 
by  the  impulse  from  within.  Yet  there  is  little  suggestion 
that  the  thought  or  emotion,  as  in  the  epic  condition,  is 
absolutely  too  great  to  be  adequately  expressed.  There 
is  often  a  suggestion  of  the  opposite.  Judging  of  the  per- 
sons who  cry  loudest,  and  of  the  circumstances  in  which 
they  do  so,  it  might  be  argued  that  this  form  of  expression, 


34O      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

as  a  rule,  exaggerates  the  amount  and  quality  of  the 
experience ;  and  this  is  the  condition  in  dramatic  art. 
Viewed  with  this  in  mind,  any  one  who  will  examine 
a  typical  lyric  will  be  interested  in  observing  how  few 
traces  it  manifests  of  either  the  epic  or  the  realistic.  In 
neither  of  the  following,  for  example,  are  there  any  great 
ideas  illustrated,  as  in  the  epic  ;  nor  many  facts  delineated 
in  the  order  of  their  sequence  and  interdependence,  as  in 
the  realistic.  Nothing  is  mentioned  except  what  is  neces- 
sary in  order  to  reveal  to  us  how  the  poet's  individual 
imagination  has  been  affected  by  the  suggestions  received. 
Just  as,  through  a  few  outlines,  a  good  draughtsman  gives 
us  a  conception  of  a  whole  form,  so  the  lyric  poet,  through 
a  few  words,  gives  us  a  conception  of  a  whole  series  of 
scenes  or  events.  But  in  the  lyric  these  few  words  do 
more  than  represent,  as  in  realistic  art,  what  exists  or  may 
be  supposed  to  exist.  They  create  something  that  with- 
out them  would  not  exist.  They  give  apprehensible  form 
to  impressions  made  upon  thought  and  feeling ;  form  too 
which  is  represented  not  merely  in  a  few  words  and 
phrases,  as  illustrated  on  page  200,  but  in  whole  poems. 
In  what  sense  this  is  true,  will  be  found  explained  from 
one  point  of  view  in  Chapter  VI.  of  "  The  Genesis  of  Art- 
Form,"  and  from  another  point  of  view  in  Chapter  XXVI. 
of  "  Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art."  At  present  it  is 
enough  for  the  reader  to  observe  how  entirely  the  aes- 
thetic interest  awakened  by  the  following  is  an  interest 
not  in  any  great  idea  illustrated  nor  in  successive  events 
accurately  detailed,  but  in  the  form  which  the  writer  has 
constructed  in  order,  through  it,  to  represent  the  particu- 
lar character  of  the  emotional  effects  which,  owing  to  his 
own  poetic  sensibilities,  he  himself  has,  or  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have,  experienced : 


LYRIC  POETRY.  341 

"  O  Mary,  go  and  call  the  cattle  home, 
And  call  the  cattle  home, 
And  call  the  cattle  home, 
Across  the  sands  o'  Dee  !  " 

The  western  wind  was  wild  and  dank  wi'  foam, 
And  all  alone  went  she. 

The  creeping  tide  came  up  along  the  sand, 
And  o'er  and  o'er  the  sand, 
And  round  and  round  the  sand, 
As  far  as  eye  could  see  ; 

The  blinding  mist  came  down  and  hid  the  land  : 
And  never  home  came  she. 

"  O  is  it  weed,  or  fish,  or  floating  hair — 
A  tress  o'  golden  hair, 
O'  drowned  maiden's  hair — 
Above  the  nets  at  sea  ? 
Was  never  salmon  yet  that  shone  so  fair, 
Among  the  stakes  on  Dee." 

They  rowed  her  in  across  the  rolling  foam — 
The  cruel,  crawling  foam, 
The  cruel,  hungry  foam — 
To  her  grave  beside  the  sea  ; 

But  still  the  boatmen  hear  her  call  the  cattle  home 
Across  the  sands  o'  Dee. 

0  Mary,  Go  and  Call  the  Cattle  Home  :  Kingsley. 

The  sun  had  scattered  each  opal  cloud, 

And  the  flowers  had  waked  from  their  winter's  rest, 

The  song  of  the  skylark  rang  free  and  loud, 

And  ah  !  there  were  eggs  in  the  swallow's  nest  ! 

And  for  joy  of  the  spring  that  so  sweet  appears, 

I  sang  with  the  singing  of  twenty  years. 

Out  from  the  meadows  there  passed  a  maid, — 

How  can  I  tell  you  why  she  was  fair  ? 
To  see  was  to  love  as  she  bent  her  head 

Over  the  brooklet  that  murmured  there. 
As  I  gazed,  in  an  April  of  hopes  and  fears, 
I  dreamed  with  the  dreaming  of  twenty  years. 


342      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

Next, — for  I  saw  her  just  once  again, — 

Just  once  in  that  rare  spring-tide, — 
I  felt  a  heart-throb  of  vague  sweet  pain, 

For  I  noticed  that  some  one  was  by  her  side  ! 
And  I  turned,  with  a  passion  of  sudden  tears, 
For  they  loved  with  the  loving  of  twenty  years. 

Twenty  Years  :    Trs.  from  the  French  of  E.  Barateau. 

There  is  no  great  liability  of  confounding  the  lyric  with 
the  epic ;  but  there  is  of  confounding  the  lyric  with  the 
realistic.  The  tendency  may  be  best  avoided  perhaps  by 
remembering  that  the  lyric  is  always  dramatic  ;  and  that 
in  the  dramatic,  as  contrasted  with  the  realistic,  imagina- 
tion is  never  itself  subordinated  to  natural  conditions  or 
forms ;  it  clothes  itself  in  these  forms,  and  makes  them 
give  expression  to  its  own  activities,  —  in  fact,  it  makes 
the  forms  take  on  character,  and  often  its  own  character. 
The  following,  for  instance,  is  realistically  didactic.  It  is 
an  exhortation  expressing  a  conscious  subordination  of 
thought  and  feeling  to  certain  great  realities  of  life : 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way  | 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 

Find  us  farther  than  to-day. 


Trust  no  future,  howe'er  pleasant ! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead  ! 
Act, — act  in  the  living  Present  ! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead  ! 

A  Psalm  of  Life  :  Longfellow. 

But  this,  dealing  with  a  similar  thought,  is  lyric.  It  is 
an  exultant  cry  expressing  conscious  ability  to  subordinate 
certain  realities  of  life  to  one's  own  thought  and  feeling : 

Not  in  vain  the  distance  beacons.     Forward,  forward  let  us  range. 
Let  the  great  world  spin  forever  down  the  ringing  grooves  of  change. 


LYRIC  POETRY.  343 

O,  I  see  the  crescent  promise  of  my  spirit  hath  not  set. 
Ancient  fonts  of  inspiration  well  through  all  my  fancy  yet. 

Locks  ley  Hall :   Tennyson. 

The  following,  devoid,  as  it  is,  of  any  suggestion  of  char- 
acter, almost  of  any  action  that  has  affected  character,  is 
realistically  descriptive  of  nature : 

Below  me  trees  unnumbered  rise, 
Beautiful  in  various  dyes  : 
The  gloomy  pine,  the  poplar  blue, 
The  yellow  beech,  the  sable  yew, 

And  see  the  rivers  how  they  run 

Through  woods  and  meads,  in  shade  and  sun, 

Sometimes  swift,  and  sometimes  slow, — 

Wave  succeeding  wave,  they  go 

A  various  journey  to  the  deep, 

Like  human  life  to  endless  sleep. 

Grongar  Hill :  John  Dyer. 

But  this  may  be  said  to  illustrate  a  descriptive  phase  of 
the  lyric.  Instead  of  placing  man  and  nature  side  by 
side,  it  reveals  him  expressing  his  own  moods,  through  re- 
ferring to  nature : 

Flow  down,  cold  rivulet,  to  the  sea, 

Thy  tribute  wave  deliver  ; 
No  more  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be 

Forever  and  forever. 

A  thousand  suns  will  stream  on  thee, 

A  thousand  moons  will  quiver, 
But  not  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be 

Forever  and  forever. 

The  Farewell:   Tennyson. 

This  does  the  same  more  emphatically.  It  personifies 
nature,  and  puts  a  man's  character  inside  of  its  activities: 


344      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

I  am  the  daughter  of  earth  and  the  water, 

The  nursling  of  the  sky, 
I  pass  through  the  pores  of  the  ocean  and  shores, 

I  change,  but  I  cannot  die. 
For  after  the  rain  when  with  never  a  stain 

The  pavilion  of  heaven  is  bare, 
And  the  winds  and  sunbeams,  with  their  convex  gleams, 

Build  up  the  blue  dome  of  air, — 
I  silently  laugh  at  my  own  cenotaph, 

And  out  of  the  caverns  of  rain, 
Like  a  child  from  the  womb,  like  a  ghost  from  the  tomb, 

I  rise  and  unbuild  it  again. 

The  Cloud:  Shelley. 

Finally,  let  us  look  at  the  historic  or  narrative  phase  of 
the  realistic,  as  exemplified  in  the  ancient  ballad : 

The  stout  Earl  of  Northumberland 

A  vow  to  God  did  make, 
His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 

Three  summer's  days  to  take. 

The  chiefest  harts  in  Chevy-Chace 

To  kill  and  bear  away  ; 
The  tidings  to  Earl  Douglas  came, 

In  Scotland  where  he  lay. 

Who  sent  Earl  Percy  present  word 

He  would  prevent  his  sport ; 
The  English  Earl  not  fearing  this, 

Did  to  the  woods  resort. 
More  Modern  Ballad  of  Chevy-Chace  :  Percy's  Reliqties. 

In  contrast  to  this,  each  of  the  following  gives  a  narrative 
still,  but  it  is  presented  dramatically  ;  in  other  words,  for 
the  purpose  of  representing  the  effects  exerted  upon  or 
through  the  characters  engaged  in  the  transactions.  The 
passages  are  therefore  lyric  : 

'T  was  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  won 
By  Philip's  warlike  son  ; 


LYRIC  POETRY.  345 

Aloft  in  awful  state, 
The  godlike  hero  sate 
On  his  imperial  throne. 

The  lovely  Thais,  by  his  side, 
Sate  like  a  blooming  Eastern  bride 
In  flower  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride. 
Happy,  happy,  happy  pair. 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fair  1 

Timotheus,  placed  on  high 
Amid  the  tuneful  quire, 
With  flying  fingers  touched  the  lyre  ; 

The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky, 
And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 

Alexander's  Feast :  Dryden. 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league, 
Half  a  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"  Forward,  the  light  brigade  ! 
Charge  for  the  guns  !  "  he  said. 
Into  the  valley  of  death, 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade  :  Tennyson. 

The  form  of  the  dramatic  which  it  seems  proper  to 
place  half-way  between  the  lyric  and  the  dramatic  proper, 
sustaining  the  same  relation  to  each  respectively  as  the 
naturalistic  to  the  didactic  on  the  one  hand  and  to  the 
historic  on  the  other,  is  the  protactic.  This  is  a  new 
term  ;  but  it  is  appropriate,  and  there  is  occasion  for  its 
use.  The  word  has  one  meaning  and  one  only.  It  was 
formerly  applied  to  those  who  appeared  in  the  introduc- 
tions of  the  Greek  plays,  for  the  purpose  of  explaining 


346      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

the  meanings  of  them.  "  Protactic  persons  in  plays," 
says  Webster,  "  are  those  who  give  a  narrative  or  ex- 
planation of  the  piece."  This  is  exactly  what  is  done  by 
the  writers  of  the  form  of  composition  to  which  it  is 
proposed  to  apply  this  term.  They  give  a  narrative  or 
explanation  of  a  distinctly  dramatic  series  of  passages 
representing  actions  through  the  words  of  the  characters 
depicted.  These  poems  are  not,  like  Scott's  "  Lady  of 
the  Lake,"  and  other  merely  narrative  poems,  novels  in 
verse.  They  exemplify  a  form  of  literary  art  not  exten- 
sively used  previous  to  the  last  half-century;  and  it  seems 
desirable  to  have  a  term  which  can  distinguish  them.  As 
a  rule,  the  basis  for  the  dramatic  unity  of  this  style  of 
poem  is  the  fact  that  the  narrator  himself  is  a  principal 
actor  in  the  scenes  described,  which  he  relates  in  the  first 
person,  e.  g.  : 

Do  you  see  this  square  old  yellow  book  I  toss 

I'  the  air  and  catch  again ,  and  twirl  about 

By  the  crumpled  vellum  covers, — pure  crude  fact 

Secreted  from  man's  life  when  hearts  beat  hard, 

And  brains,  high-blooded,  ticked  two  centuries  since? 

The  Ring  and  the  Book  :  R.  Browning. 

Of  writing  many  books  there  is  no  end  ; 
And  I  who  have  written  much  in  prose  and  verse 
For  others'  uses,  will  write  now  for  mine, — 
Will  write  my  story  for  my  better  self,  etc. 

Aurora  Leigh  :  E.  B.  Browning. 

R-r-r,  you  brute,  beast,  and  blackguard  !  cowardly  scamp  ! 

I  only  wish  I  dared  burn  down  the  house 

And  spoil  your  sniggering  !     O  what,  you  're  the  man  ? 

You  're  satisfied  at  last  !     You  've  found  out  Sludge? 

We  '11  see  that  presently  :  my  turn,  sir,  next ! 

I  too  can  tell  my  story  ;  brute,  do  you  hear  ? — 

You  throttled  your  sainted  mother,  that  old  hag, 

In  just  such  a  fit  of  passion  ;  no,  it  was     .     .     . 


DRAMATIC  POETRY.  347 

To  get  this  house  of  hers,  and  many  a  note 
Like  these    .    .    .    I  '11  pocket  them,  however,    .    .    .    five, 
Ten,  fifteen    ....    ay,  you  gave  her  throat  the  twist, 
Or  else  you  poisoned  her  !     Confound  the  cuss  ! 

Mr.  Sludge,  the  Medium  :  R.  Browning. 

The  form  of  dramatic  art  termed  the  dramatic  proper, 
or  the  drama,  needs  little  mention  here.  We  are  all 
acquainted  with  its  main  characteristics.  The  different 
persons  in  it  are  usually  represented  precisely  as  in  life, 
by  their  own  utterances,  and,  as  portrayed  on  the  stage, 
by  their  own  actions.  These  two  facts  are  the  funda- 
mental ones  on  which  are  based  all  the  other  require- 
ments. Nothing  in  word  or  deed  is  usually  introduced 
which  it  is  not  supposable  that  a  character  represented 
would  introduce  in  the  circumstances,  nor  omitted,  which 
it  is  not  supposable  that  this  character  would  omit. 
Moreover,  as  dramatic  art  is  particularly  representative  of 
that  which  is  emotionally  effective  (see  page  339),  and  as 
the  effective  is  the  result,  in  all  cases,  of  more  or  less 
action,  the  drama,  to  a  greater  extent  than  any  other  form 
of  poetry,  must  represent  action.  To  have  every  charac- 
ter on  a  stage  stand  still,  while  one  is  declaiming  a  passage 
like  the  following,  is  fatal  to  success : 

Why  then,  you  Princes, 

Do  you  with  cheeks  abashed  behold  our  works, 
And  think  them  shames  which  are,  indeed,  naught  else 
But  the  protractive  trials  of  great  Jove, 
To  find  persistive  constancy  in  men  ? 
The  fineness  of  which  metal  is  not  found 
In  Fortune's  love  ;  for  them,  the  bold  and  coward, 
The  wise  and  fool,  the  artist  and  unread, 
The  hard  and  soft,  seem  all  affin'd  and  kin  : 
But,  in  the  wind  and  tempest  of  her  frown, 
Distinction  with  a  broad  and  powerful  fan, 
Purling  at  all,  winnows  the  light  away  ; 


348      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

And  what  hath  mass  or  matter  by  itself 
Lies  rich  in  virtue  and  unmingled. 

Troilus  and  Crcssida,  i.,  j  :  Shakespeare. 

Far  more  effective  are  both  words  and  deeds,  when  given 
a  form  like  this : 

Macduff.  Turn,  hell  hound,  turn  ! 

Macbeth.     Of  all  men  else  have  I  avoided  thee  : 
But  get  thee  back  ;  my  soul  is  too  much  charged 
With  blood  of  thine  already. 

Macd.  I  have  no  words  ; 

My  voice  is  in  my  sword  :  thou  bloodier  villain 
Than  terms  can  give  thee  out.  {They  Jig ht.) 

Macb.  Thou  losest  labor  ; 

As  easy  may'st  thou  the  intrenchant  air 
With  thy  keen  sword  impress     .     .     . 

Before  my  body 

I  throw  my  warlike  shield  ;  lay  on,  Macduff ; 
And  damned  be  him  that  first  cries  ' '  Hold,  enough  !  " 

Macbeth,  v.,  7  :  Idem. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    EPIC,    REALISTIC,    AND    DRAMATIC,    IN    MUSIC    AND 

PAINTING. 

These  Forms  more  Difficult  to  Determine  in  Music  ;  yet  Distinguishable — 
The  Epic  in  Music — The  Realistic — The  Dramatic — The  Three  Forms 
in  Painting — Quotations  from  Others — Epic  Painting  as  Symbolic — As 
Allegoric — As  Epic  Proper,  Heroic  or  Typical — The  Epic  in  Land- 
scapes— The  Realistic,  its  High  Rank  in  the  Arts  of  Sight ;  as  Decora- 
tive— As  Naturalistic  when  Imitative — When  Imaginative  as  in  Figures 
or  Landscapes — As  Historic,  and  how  Di-ffering  from  the  Dramatic — 
Quotations — Illustrations — The  Dramatic  as  Character-Painting — As 
Pantomimic — As  Dramatic  Proper — Dramatic  Landscape. 

T  N  music  some  difficulties  confront  us, — not  peculiar, 
however,  to  an  endeavor  to  distinguish  the  particular 
phases  of  artistic  form  that  we  are  now  considering,  but  inci- 
dent upon  all  endeavors  to  determine  with  definiteness  any 
phases  of  expression  represented  in  inarticulated  sounds. 
A  complete  discussion  of  both  the  possibilities  and  the 
limitations  of  these  sounds,  will  be  found  in  the  essay  of 
this  series  entitled  "  Music  as  a  Representative  Art,"  which 
is  printed  in  the  volume  entitled  "  Rhythm  and  Harmony 
in  Poetry  and  Music."  At  present,  it  is  only  necessary  to 
direct  attention  to  certain  general  considerations  suggest- 
ing in  what  sense  it  is  appropriate  to  speak  of  music  as 
epic,  realistic,  or  dramatic.  To  take  up,  first,  the  epic, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  certain  musical  compositions  may 
be  termed  "  illustrations  of  general  ideas."  What  is  meant 
by  a  musical  idea  is  explained  on  pages  198  and  200  to 

349 


350      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

2io  of  "Art  in  Theory,"  and  has  been  well  expressed  by 
Choron,  the  author  of  the  "  Introduction  a  T  Etude  Gen- 
erale  et  Raisonnee  de  la  Musique."  "  In  music  "  he  says, 
"  and  in  the  arts  in  general,  we  call  idea  that  which  in  more 
exact  language  we  call  thought.  However  that  may  be, 
the  musical  thought  or  idea  is  usually  a  passage  of  melody 
which  presents  itself  to  the  mind  of  the  composer  with  all 
its  suitable  accessories.  We  ought  also  to  distinguish 
ideas  into  principal  and  secondary.  The  first  are  suited 
to  form  the  basis  or  foundation  of  a  composition  ;  the 
others  are  applied  to  the  development  of  the  principal 
ideas."  Now  in  certain  varieties  of  music,  it  is  easy  to 
perceive  the  subordination  of  every  special  or  secondary 
to  some  general  or  principal  idea.  We  listen  in  a  mood 
disposed  rather  to  feel  after  this  general  idea  than  to  rest 
contented  with  special  separate  effects.  Perhaps  one 
could  say  more  appropriately,  we  attempt  to  feel  the  gen- 
eral idea  through  experiencing  the  separate  effects.  But 
this,  and  this  alone,  is  the  legitimate  influence  of  epic  art. 
To  separate  epic  music  into  departments  of  it  correspond- 
ing to  symbolic,  allegoric,  and  heroic  poetry,  is  difficult 
and  not  important.  In  a  general  way,  however,  it  may  be 
said  that  the  capriccio  and  the  fantasia,  which  are  the  least 
constrained  by  the  rules  of  precise  form,  represent  the  most 
subjective  tendency;  that  the  complications,  the  constant 
departures  yet  returns  to  the  same  subject-matter  of  illus- 
tration as  in  the  fugue  and  canon,  are  analogous  to  the 
movements  of  a  metrical  romance  or  allegory  like  "  The 
Faerie  Queen  "  of  Spenser  ;  and  that  the  more  elaborated 
developments  and  enlargements  of  the  theme,  as  in  the 
concerto,  overture,  and  symphony,  in  cases  where  none  of 
them  are  dramatic,  correspond  to  the  most  objective  or 
artistic  epic  tendency.  Especially  the  symphony,  with  its 


REALISTIC  MUSIC  351 

illustrations  of  the  influence  in  the  realm  of  sound  of  grand 
and  spiritual  sequences  of  emotive  conditions,  seems  to  be 
the  musical  analogue  of  the  heroic  or  highest  form  of  the 
epic. 

When  we  come  to  realistic  music,  subdivision  is  perhaps 
still  more  difficult.  What  best  corresponds  to  the  didac- 
tic in  poetry,  is  apparently  the  music  of  accompaniment, 
when,  as  in  many  operas  and  oratorios,  especially  those  of 
Haydn  and  Handel,  it  is  naturalistic.  As  for  the  distinc- 
tively naturalistic,  it  need  not  be  confined  entirely  to  imi- 
tations of  the  jingling  of  sleigh-bells,  the  popping  of 
champagne  bottles,  and  the  thunder  of  cannon  such  as 
abound  in  third-class  concert  halls.  It  characterizes,  as  in 
the  dragon-scene  from  "  Siegfried,"  a  good  deal  of  the  music 
of  Wagner,  and  adds  much  interest  to  the  Pastoral  Sym- 
phonies of  both  Beethoven  and  Handel.  Finally  the  third 
form  of  realistic  music  is  illustrated  in  products  avowedly 
composed  to  represent  successive  series  of  sensations,  as 
awakened  in  the  mind  by  successive  external  scenes  and 
experiences.  This  is  the  sort  of  music  which,  for  lack  of 
a  better  word,  is  termed  in  the  chart  analogic.  It  is  well 
exemplified  in  the  "  Poeme  Sympathique  of  Liszt." ' 

Dramatic  music  may  be  said  to  include,  first,  corre- 
sponding to  the  lyric,  the  song  in  its  various  forms,  whether 
of  the  ballad,  the  glee,  the  hymn,  or  the  anthem  ;  second, 
corresponding  to  the  protactic  in  poetry,  indeed  resem- 
bling it  very  closely  in  its  alternation  of  description  in  the 
recitative  and  of  characterization  in  the  aria,  the  oratorio  ; 
and  third,  of  course,  corresponding  to  the  drama,  the 
opera.  It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  the  words 
which  usually  accompany  this  form  of  music  are  necessary 

1  Upon  this  whole  subject  consult  pp.  250-319  of  "  Rhythm  and  Har- 
mony in  Poetry  and  Music." 


352      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

in  order  to  render  it  dramatic.  On  account  of  them 
the  music  is  often  made  what  it  is,  and  they  often  serve  to 
interpret  its  meaning.  But  representing,  as  it  does,  the 
rise,  development,  conflict,  victory,  defeat,  or  decline  of 
successive  and  different  emotions,  music  contains  in  itself 
all  the  elements  needed  in  order  to  depict — within,  of 
course,  its  own  limitations — the  beginning,  unfolding,  and 
end  of  a  completed  play  of  passion.  This  was  the  theory 
of  Wagner,  and  many  of  his  compositions  reveal  as  much 
of  the  dramatic  in  the  interchange  of  notes  and  chords  as 
in  that  of  words  and  gestures.  In  the  earliest  composed 
overture  of  Tannhauser,  for  instance,  the  conflict  of  theme 
with  theme,  and  the  final  suppression  of  the  one  by  the 
other,  is  as  clearly  indicated  as  if  the  sounds  had  bodies 
that  we  could  see  meeting  and  grappling,  till,  finally,  the 
one  was  thrown  and  trampled  by  the  other.  So,  too, 
where  there  is  not  conflict.  The  very  tune  of  a  song,  when 
rightly  composed,  indicates  the  tenor  of  its  sentiment, 
whether  of  love  or  of  war,  of  melancholy  or  of  exultation. 
All  this,  however,  has  been  amply  discussed  in  the  essay 
on  "  Music  as  a  Representative  Art,"  published  in  the 
volume  of  this  series  entitled  "  Rhythm  and  Harmony  in 
Poetry  and  Music." 

Now  let  us  turn  to  painting.  As  in  the  case  of  music, 
another  volume  of  this  series,  namely,  "Painting,  Sculpt- 
ure, and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,"  includes, 
though  examined  from  another  point  of  view,  much  that, 
were  it  not  desirable  to  avoid  repetition,  might  be  in- 
troduced here.  But,  even  omitting  this,  it  is  hoped  that 
enough  will  be  said  to  enable  the  reader  to  differentiate  in 
all  the  arts  of  sight  the  three  phases  of  artistic  expres- 
sion which  we  are  now  considering.  When  treating  of 
painting,  Opie,  in  the  third  of  his  '*  Lectures  on  Design," 


SYMBOLIC  PAINTING.  353 

says  that  its  subjects  "  are  epic  or  sublime,  drama- 
tic or  impassioned,  historic  or  circumscribed  by  truth. 
The  first  astonishes,  the  second  moves,  the  third  informs." 
Notice  again,  too,  the  quotation  from  Fuseli  on  page 
313.  If  for  Opie's  historic,  we  substitute  the  broader 
term  realistic,  which  includes  the  historic,  his  analysis 
will  accord  exactly  with  that  given  in  this  book.  Long, 
too,  in  his  "  Art,  its  Laws  and  the  Reasons  for  Them," 
similarly  distinguishes  the  three  classes.  In  speaking  of 
the  epic  painter  he  says  :  "  His  aim  being  equally  " — with 
that  of  the  epic  poet — "  to  impress  one  general  idea,  is  in 
like  manner,  dignified,  sublime,  and  elevated, — dealing 
only  in  generals,  excluding  detail,  admitting  no  minute 
discrimination  of  character,  or  introduction  of  varied 
pathos, — not  aiming  to  develop  the  man,  to  exhibit  the 
movements  of  the  heart,  as  that  would  be  dramatic,— not 
striving  to  present  the  portraiture  of  a  fact,  as  that  would 
be  historic, — but  causing  all  to  blend  in  one  great  and 
leading  idea,  the  visible  agents  that  he  employs  are  only 
the  agents  to  force  that  idea  on  the  mind  and  fancy." 

First  under  epic  painting,  as  under  epic  poetry,  we  may 
place  the  symbolic.  This  differs  from  the  allegoric,  in  that 
it  suggests  no  continuous  story  ;  from  the  realistic,  in  that 
the  figures  draw  attention  to  themselves  less  than  to  the 
ideas  of  which  they  are  emblematic  ;  and  from  the  dra- 
matic, in  that  they  represent  traits  of  character  that  are 
typical  rather  than  individual.  Symbolic  painting  depicts 
groups,  or  single  figures,  which  are  of  some  interest  in 
themselves,  yet  which  cannot  be  wholly  understood  ex- 
cept as  they  are  perceived  to  represent  attributes  or 
functions.  Many  paintings  of  this  kind  are  among  the 
decorations  of  the  National  Library  at  Washington,  such 

as   the    "  Government,"    "  Peace    and    Prosperity,"    and 

23 


354      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

"  Anarchy  "  of  Vedder  ;  and  probably  all  of  us  are  well  ac- 
quainted, through  engravings  or  photographs,  with  other 
examples,  like  the  "Aurora  "  '  and  "  Hope  "  of  Guido  ;  the 
"  Justice,"  "  Prudence,"  "  Religion,"  and  "  Innocence  "  of 
Raphael ;  and  the  "  Poetry,"  "  Philosophy,"  "  Science," 
and  "  Religion  "  of  Kaulbach. 

Next  to  the  symbolic  form  of  epic  painting  comes,  as  in 
poetry,  the  allegoric.  This  form  frequently  represents  as 
present  at  one  time  and  place  either  mythologic  or  his- 
toric personages  belonging  to  different  periods  or  coun- 
tries. A  phase  of  the  form  which  is  allied  to  the  symbolic 
is  exemplified  in  the  great  picture  by  Delaroche  in  the 
hall  for  the  distribution  of  prizes  in  the  School  of  Fine 
Arts  in  Paris.  In  this,  the  figure  of  Fame  sits  in  the 
centre,  crowning  with  laurel  seventy  figures,  the  great 
artists  of  every  land  and  age,  who  are  represented  as 
standing  or  seated  before  her.  Another  phase  of  the 
form  which  is  allied  to  the  historic,  is  exemplified  in  the 
"  School  of  Athens,"  2  by  Raphael.  In  this  we  see,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  great  philosophers  and  artists  of  ancient 
Greece,  Raphael  himself  and  his  master,  Perugino.  In 
Kaulbach's  "  Reformation,"  too,  we  see  Copernicus,, 
Shakespeare,  Raphael,  and  their  contemporaries,  all  in 
one  church,  in  which  Luther  is  holding  up  an  open  Bible. 
An  objection  to  this  form  of  painting,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  it  attempts  to  depict  as  appearing  at  one  time  a  col- 
lection of  persons  or  a  series  of  events  which  in  real  life 
could  be  perceived  only  in  succession  or  at  different  times, 
will  be  discussed  on  page  41 8  of  this  volume.  At  present, 

1  See  Fig.  34,  page  71  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

2  See   Fig.    156,   page    249,   also   pages    201,    248,    249,    250,    and   272, 
"  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts  "  ;  also  Fig.  10,  page 41,  "  Genesis 
of  Art-Form." 


EPIC  PAINTING.  355 

it  is  enough  to  notice  that  all  the  personages  thus  grouped 
together  could  not  be  represented  as  appearing  in  one 
time  and  at  one  place  except  as  imagination  were  sup- 
posed to  be  thinking  of  them  in  connection  with  some 
general  idea  illustrated  by  the  lives  and  characters  of  all ; 
and  that  this  condition  corresponds  exactly  to  the  re- 
quirement of  the  epic  as  indicated  on  page  312. 

The  most  artistic  form  of  epic  painting  is  found,  of 
course,  in  the  epic  proper,  sometimes  called  the  heroic, 
or,  as  it  might  be  termed  still  more  appropriately,  the 
typical ;  and  the  name  that  stands  first  in  this  department 
of  the  art,  is  undoubtedly  that  of  Michael  Angelo,  "  in 
all  of  whose  productions,"  says  Long,  in  his  "  Art,  its 
Laws  and  the  Reasons  for  Them,"  "sublimity  of  con- 
ception and  grandeur  of  form  characterize  everything." 
His  great  epic,  indeed,  the  epic  painting  of  the  world, 
is  in  the  series  of  paintings  in  the  Sistine  Chapel  in 
Rome.  Fuseli,  in  his  third  "  Lecture  on  Painting,"  thus 
interprets  them :  *'  The  veil  of  eternity  is  rent.  Time, 
space,  and  matter  teem  in  the  creation  of  the  elements 
and  of  earth.  Life  issues  from  God  and  adoration  from 
man,  in  the  creation  of  Adam  and  his  mate.  Transgres- 
sion of  the  precept  at  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  proves  the 
origin  of  evil,  and  of  expulsion  from  immediate  inter- 
course with  God.  The  economy  of  justice  and  grace 
commences  in  the  revolutions  of  the  Deluge  and  the  cove- 
nant made  with  Noah.  The  germs  of  social  intercourse 
are  traced  in  the  subsequent  scene  between  him  and  his 
sons.  The  awful  synods  of  the  prophets  and  sibyls  are 
the  heralds  of  the  Redeemer,  and  the  hosts  of  patriarchs 
are  the  pedigree  of  the  Son  of  Man.  The  brazen  serpent 
and  the  fall  of  Haman,  the  giant  subdued  by  the  stripling 
David,  and  the  conqueror  subdued  by  female  weakness  in 


356      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

Judith,  are  types  of  his  mysterious  progress  till  Jonah 
pronounces  him  immortal ;  and  the  magnificence  of  -the 
Last  Judgment  by  showing  the  Saviour  in  the  judge  of 
men,  sums  up  the  whole  and  reunites  the  founder  and 
the  race."  But  though  the  greatest,  Angelo  is  not  the 
only  epic  painter.  Such  productions  as  Murillo's  "  Im- 
maculate Conception,"  Correggio's  "  Holy  Night,"1  and, 
notwithstanding  suggestions  of  the  dramatic,  Titian's 
"  Assumption  "  all  may  be  placed  in  the  same  category. 

Before  turning  from  epic  painting,  it  seems  necessary  to 
guard  against  the  supposition  that  the  application  of  the 
principle  underlying  it  is  confined  to  the  delineation  of 
figures.  That  which  causes  an  epic  result  is  the  method  in 
which  the  conception  is  expressed.  The  epic  artist  has  an 
intuition  of  a  general  idea,  which,  though  suggested  by  nat- 
ural forms,  entirely  transcends  them,  and,  in  representing 
it  through  the  forms,  he  subordinates  more  or  less  his  de- 
sire to  imitate  them,  to  his  desire  to  have  them  illustrate 
his  idea.  Of  course,  this  can  be  done  in  the  painting  of 
landscapes  as  well  as  of  figures.  As  a  fact,  the  conditions 
seem  perfectly  realized  in  such  compositions  as  Ruysdael's 
"Jewish  Cemetery,"3  in  which,  in  connection  with  the 
tombs,  a  ruined  church  tower,  a  tree  swept  bare  of  bark 
and  leaves,  and  clouds  torn  into  shreds — though  with  a 
glimmer  of  sunshine  and  a  rainbow  in  the  distance, — all 
blend,  and,  in  a  distinctively  typical  way,  exemplify  the 
effects  of  death  and  resurrection.  So  in  Turner's  u  Decline 
of  Carthage"8  and  Claude's  "Evening,"4  as  well  as  in 

1  Fig.  70,  page  215,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

2  See  Fig.   157,  page  261;  also  pages  260-262  of  "Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and 
Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

3  See  Fig.  51,  page  175,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

4  See  Fig.  40,  page  119,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form  "  ;  also  page  262  of 
"  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


REALISTIC  PAINTING.  357 

many  other  of  the  works  of  all  these  painters,  the  human 
beings  subordinately  introduced,  as  also  the  natural  and 
architectural  forms,  are  made  distinctively  interpretive  of 
one  another  by  being  made  illustrative  of  the  same  general 
idea. 

The  character  of  representation  in  painting  and  sculpt- 
ure causes  these  arts  to  be  more  naturally  allied  to  reality 
than  are  poetry  and  music.  Hence  the  realistic  in  the  arts 
of  sight  ranks  relatively  higher  than  in  the  arts  of  sound. 
Of  course,  too,  like  epic  painting,  the  realistic  can  be 
manifested  both  in  landscapes  and  in  figures.  The  most 
subjective  phase  of  this  form — that  which  corresponds 
to  the  didactic  in  poetry — is  termed,  in  the  chart,  decora- 
tive, to  which  term  is  added,  "  when  also  naturalistic." 
By  this  is  meant  that  the  decorative  is  not  to  be  ranked 
with  the  highest  art  except  when  it  involves  a  use  of 
pictures.  It  will  be  remembered  that  it  was  said  on 
Page  332  that  in  didactic  poetry  an  otherwise  argumen- 
tative and  scientific  theme  may  be  rendered  imaginative 
through  a  use  of  illustrations.  It  is  the  same  with  an 
otherwise  scientifically  constructed  and  decorated  wall- 
space.  The  fundamental  requirement  of  decorative  paint- 
ing is  that  it  fit  the  place  in  which  it  is  put.  It  might  be 
supposed  that  so  far  as  the  place  dominates  the  figures 
and  colors  of  the  limbs,  drapery,  flowers,  or  fruit  depicted, 
this  form  of  painting  could  not  attain  high  rank.  Yet  at 
times  it  may  do  so,  though  in  these  cases  it  ceases  to  be 
merely  decorative.  Few  finer  specimens  of  epic  or  dra- 
matic art  exist  than  in  the  frescos  of  Michael  Angelo  and 
Raphael. 

Next  to  decorative  painting  in  the  chart  is  placed  the 
naturalistic.  This  includes,  of  course,  what  is  termed 
"  still  life," — i.  e.j  pictures  of  fruit,  or  flowers,  or  of  dead 


358      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

fish,  beasts,  or  birds.  But  besides  this  it  includes  imitative 
landscapes  and  figures  of  the  kind  of  which,  in  the  fourth 
of  his  "  Lectures  on  Painting,"  Fuseli  speaks, — "  Land- 
scapes entirely  occupied  with  the  tame  delineation  of  a 
given  spot,  and  enumeration  of  hill  and  dale,  clumps  of 
trees,  shrubs,  water,  meadows,  cottages,  and  houses,  what 
are  commonly  called  *  views ' — little  more  than  topog- 
raphy." It  includes  also  that  kind  of  portrait  which  he 
terms  "  the  remembrancer  of  insignificance,  mere  human 
resemblance,  in  attitude  without  action,  features  without 
meaning,  dress  without  drapery,  and  situations  without 
propriety  ...  in  which  the  aim  of  the  artist  and  the 
sitter's  wish  are  confined  to  external  likenesses, — -it  is 
furniture."  ' 

Realistic  art,  however,  is  not  all  merely  imitative.  While 
showing  the  most  scrupulous  fidelity  to  all  the  features  of 
the  scenes  or  faces  depicted,  it  may  contain  so  much  in 
addition,  in  the  way  of  the  arrangements  of  form,  drapery, 
color,  and  light,  as  to  suggest,  as  powerfully  as  can  almost 
any  kind  of  painting,  the  effects  of  imagination  and  in- 
vention. But  so  long  as  the  subjects  of  these  paintings 
are  predominantly  "  circumscribed  by  truth,"  as  Fuseli 
expresses  it,  they  furnish  examples  of  realistic,  rather  than 
of  epic  or  dramatic,  art.  In  this  division  of  realistic  art, 
we  may  place  most  of  the  landscapes — and  perhaps  they 
are  the  majority  of  all  of  them — that  are  essentially  pho- 
tographic, in  the  sense  of  being  exact  reproductions;  and 
we  may  place  here  also  figures,  especially  portraits,  that  are 
not  in  any  sense  typical,  or  illustrative  of  general  ideas,  as 
in  the  epic,  nor  strongly  representative  of  character,  as  in 
the  dramatic.  Perhaps  the  best  exemplifications  of  this 

1  See  illustration  of  "Light  and  Shade,"  Fig.  16,  page  41,  "Paint., 
Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


HISTORIC  PAINTING.  359 

kind  of  art  are  found  among  the  Dutch  painters,  like 
Denner,  for  instance,  who  apparently  never  lets  a  hair  of 
a  man's  head  escape  his  notice.  Some  of  the  work  of 
Willems  and  Meissonier,  however,  seems  almost  equally 
accurate. 

In  the  degree  in  which  the  realistic  in  painting  suggests 
action,  it  may  become  historic,  and,  in  certain  circum- 
stances, dramatic.  The  historic  and  dramatic  differ  thus: 
the  former  is  intended  to  impress  upon  us  the  truth  with 
reference  to  certain  occurrences  that  have  actually  taken 
place  or  that,  owing  to  what  we  know,  may  be  believed  to 
have  taken  place.  The  dramatic  is  intended  to  impress 
upon  us  the  truth  with  reference  to  certain  individuals, 
either  historic  or  not,  who  are  depicted  as  representing 
their  own  characters  as  excited  either  by  their  own  moods 
or  by  the  actions  of  others.  Broadly  considered,  historic 
painting,  like  historic  literature,  may  include  much  that  is 
no  more  than  an  illustration  of  the  customs  and  costumes 
of  different  nations.  In  its  highest  form,  however,  which 
is  the  highest  form  also  of  realistic  art,  it  requires  almost 
•as  much  imagination  and  invention  as  epic  or  dramatic 
painting.  In  order  to  illustrate  precisely  what  an  historic 
painting  is,  Mr.  Long,  in  his  "  Art,  its  Laws  and  the  Rea- 
sons for  Them,"  speaks  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  "  Portrait 
of  Elliot,"  the  British  commander  at  Gibraltar  in  the 
year  when  it  was  attacked  by  the  combined  French  and 
Spanish  forces.  "  The  painter's  design  was  not  simply  to 
give  a  portrait  of  Mr.  Elliot,  but  of  General  Elliot  ;  not 
only  that,  but  of  the  successful  defender  of  Gibraltar  upon 
that  occasion.  He  has  therefore  represented  him  in  his  mili- 
tary costume,  and  holding  in  his  hands  a  key,  in  symbolic 
allusion  to  the  fact  of  that  citadel  being  the  key  to  the 
Mediterranean.  In  the  distance  may  be  seen  the  two 


360      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

squadrons  at  the  moment  of  battle,1  and  behind  him  a 
cannon  pointed  downwards  to  show  the  loftiness  of  the 
fortress, — all  which  surroundings  connect  him  with  that 
transaction,  and  thus  make  the  representation  a  good 
illustration  of  historic  portraiture.  But  to  define  the 
class  under  consideration  more  particularly,  it  may  be 
proper  to  state  that  the  painter  of  pure  history  does  not, 
like  the  dramatic  painter,  represent  that  which  might  be, 
but  that  which  was  or  is." 

Fuseli,  in  his  third  "  Lecture  on  Painting,"  gives  a  still 
clearer  description  of  historic  art  :  "  History  strictly  so 
called  follows  the  drama ;  fiction  now  ceases,  and  inven- 
tion consists  only  in  selecting  and  fixing  with  dignity, 
precision,  and  sentiment  the  movements  of  reality.  Sup- 
pose that  the  artist  choose  the  death  of  Germanicus, — he 
is  not  to  give  us  the  highest  images  of  general  grief  which 
impress  the  features  of  a  people  or  a  family  at  the  death 
of  a  beloved  chief  or  father,  for  this  would  be  epic 
imagery  ;  we  should  have  Achilles,  Hector,  Niobe.  He 
is  not  to  mix  up  character  which  observation  and  com- 
parison have  pointed  out  to  him  as  the  fittest  to  excite- 
the  gradations  of  sympathy;  not  Admetus  and  Alceste, 
not  Meleager  and  Atalante ;  for  this  would  be  the  drama. 
He  is  to  give  us  the  idea  of  a  Roman  dying  amidst  Ro- 
mans, as  tradition  gave  him,  with  all  the  real  modifica- 
tions of  time  and  place  which  may  serve  unequivocally 
to  discriminate  that  moment  of  grief  from  all  others." 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  will  be  evident  that  to  dis- 
tinguish historic  from  dramatic  painting  is  in  some  cases 
extremely  difficult.  Nor  can  it  be  done  at  all  except  by 
first  deciding  what  is  the  predominating  motive  that  the 

1  See  criticism  on  this  statement  in  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep. 
Arts,"  p.  266. 


HISTORIC  PAINTING.  361 

picture  exhibits.  When  we  look,  for  instance,  at  some  of 
the  products  of  the  Dutch  School,  at  a  picture,  say,  of 
Teniers,1  or  at  some  of  the  work  of  a  painter  like  J.  F. 
Millet,2  we  find  much  that  suggests  the  dramatic.  But 
when  we  seek  for  the  predominating  motive  of  the  artistr 
we  recognize  that  it  must  have  been  to  picture  the  life  of 
the  peasant  as  he  really  saw  it ;  and  this  leads  us  to  class 
his  work  as  realistic.  On  the  contrary,  when  we  look  at  a 
picture  like  Piloty's  "  Death  of  Wallenstein  "  or  Gerome's 
"  Pollice  Verso"3  it  suggests,  at  first,  only  the  historic; 
yet  the  predominating  motive  of  the  artist  was  so  evi- 
dently to  portray  character  as  affected  by  certain  specific 
emotions  that,  as  in  the  case  of  Shakespeare's  historical 
plays,  we  can  call  the  paintings  historic  in  only  the  sense 
of  being  historico-dramatic. 

The  object  of  dramatic  painting  is  to  reveal  the  effects 
upon  particular  characters  or  temperaments  of  particular 
occurrences  or  surroundings.  As  in  dramatic  poetry,  so 
in  this  kind  of  painting,  all  must  be  definite  and  vigorous, 
if  not  brilliant  and  striking.  We  have  placed  first  here 
what  may  be  called  character-painting.  The  most  typical 
form  of  this  seems  to  be  exemplified  in  that  popular  phase 
of  art  represented  by  "  The  Beggar  Boys  "  of  Murillo  and 
"  The  Newsboys  "  of  J.  G.  Brown.  But  portraits,  too,  are 
often  so  composed  as  to  come  strictly  within  this  class. 
All  of  us  probably  can  recall  the  likenesses  of  wives, 
daughters,  or  mistresses  which  Raphael,  Rubens,  and 
Rembrandt  were  accustomed  to  produce  in  the  guise  of 

1  See  "  The  Village  Dance,"  by  Teniers,  Fig.  43,  page  142,  "  The 
Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

2 See  "Leaving  for  Work,"  by  J.  F.  Millet,  Fig.  169,  page  299, 
"  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

3  Fig.  8,  page  31,  idem.;  also  Fig.  26,  page  81,  "The  Genesis  of  Art- 
Form." 


362      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

fictitious  and  sacred  personages.1  "  In  the  Louvre,"  says 
Kugler,  when  speaking,  in  his  "  Handbuch  der  Kunstges- 
chichte,"  v.,  8,  of  the  portraits  of  Titian,  "  we  find  the  Mar- 
chese  del  Guasto  with  his  mistress,  to  whom  Cupid,  Flora, 
and  Zephyr  are  bringing  gifts."  Of  the  portraits  of  Titian's 
daughter,  Lavinia,  he  says :  "  One  of  the  finest  specimens 
is  in  the  Berlin  Museum.  Here  the  beautiful  and 
splendidly  attired  girl  is  holding  up  a  plate  of  fruit." 
"  Another  "  is  "  in  the  possession  of  Lord  De  Gray,  where, 
instead  of  fruit,  she  is  holding  up  a  jewel-casket.  A 
fourth  is  in  the  Madrid  Gallery,  but  here  it  becomes  an 
historical  representation  ;  it  is  the  daughter  of  Herodias." 
No  one  needs  to  have  explained  why  portraits  like  this 
can  be  said  to  be  portraits  in  character.  But  the  same 
may  be  affirmed  also  of  many  less  ostensibly  designed 
with  this  object  in  view, — portraits  which,  while  omitting 
the  costumes  causing  us  to  associate  the  persons  repre- 
sented with  others  who  have  certain  individual  traits, 
nevertheless  preserve  everything  else  that  will  emphasize 
these  traits;  portraits,  for  instance,  like  some  of  Sar- 
gent's,— the  "  Little  Marjorie,"  or  that  of  Mr.  H.  G.  Mar- 
quand  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  New  York. 

For  the  scientific  or  realistic  phase  of  dramatic  painting, 
no  better  word  seems  attainable  than  pantomimic.  Genre 
is  the  term  first  suggested.  But  a  genre  painting  that 
depicts  common  life  without  drawing  attention  particularly 
to  character  may  be  realistic,  as  is  the  painting  of  Teniers 
mentioned  on  the  preceding  page.  When  a  genre  picture  or 
any  other  derives  its  chief  interest  from  the  fact  that  it 
represents  an  interchange  of  feeling,  thought,  or  action 
between  different  characters,  it  affects  us  precisely  as  a 

1  See  the  Madonnas  in  Fig.  38,  page  n6,and  Fig.  39,  page  117,  "The 
Genesis  of  Art-Form." 


DRAMA  7VC  PAINTING.  363 

pantomime  would  on  a  stage.  Why,  therefore,  should  it 
not  be  called  pantomimic  f  By  what  word  could  we  bet- 
ter describe  a  painting  like  "The  Summer  Night"  by 
Van  Beers,1  or  better,  say,  "  The  Card  Players  "  by  Cara- 
vaggio  ? 2  In  this  latter,  we  see  cards  and  money  on  a  table. 
Seated  on  one  side  of  this  is  a  man  with  a  dishonest  face. 
On  the  other  side,  playing  with  him,  is  a  man  with  an  in- 
nocent face,  evidently  just  the  one  to  be  made  a  dupe. 
Behind  this  last  man,  looking  over  his  shoulder,  stands  a 
third,  muffling  his  breath  to  prevent  his  presence  from 
being  detected,  and  holding  up  two  fingers  to  let  the  first 
player  know  what  cards  are  being  played  by  the  second. 
In  the  same  way  the  panel -paintings  by  Alexander, 
in  the  National  Library  at  Washington,  termed  "  The 
Making  of  a  Book,"  are  dramatically  pantomimic  rather 
than  realistically  historic.  The  differences  between  them, 
by  the  way,  and  those  of  Vedder  in  the  adjoining  corridor, 
afford  a  good  opportunity  for  contrasting  the  dramatic 
in  this  form  with  the  epic  in  the  form  of  the  symbolic. 

Even  pantomimic  painting  usually  necessitates  some 
representation  of  the  customs  and  costumes  of  periods 
and  countries.  For  this  reason,  they  must  be,  to  some 
extent,  historic  as  well  as  dramatic, — a  fact  which,  when 
we  consider  the  blending  of  the  narrative  and  the  dra- 
matic in  protactic  poetry,  will  give  us  a  reason  for  per- 
ceiving a  certain  correspondence  between  this  form  of 
poetry  and  pantomimic  painting. 

The  dramatic  proper  in  painting,  as  in  poetry,  some- 
times differs  from  the  historic  in  only  the  degree  in  which 
the  historic  features  are  subordinated.  For  instance, 

1  Fig.   161,   page  273;  see  also  pages  271    and  272,    "Paint.,    Sculpt., 
and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

2  Fig.  1 60,  page  271,  idem. 


UNIVERSITY 


364      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

though  suggested  by  historic  facts,  the  "  Rape  of  the  Sa- 
bines  "  l  and  "  The  Woman  Taken  in  Adultery  "  a  by  Pous- 
sin,  "  The  Descent  from  the  Cross,"  *  "  The  Crucifixion," 
and,  more  unmistakably,  "The  Lion  Hunt,"  by  Rubens, 
are  dramatic  rather  than  historic.  So  are  the  greater 
works  of  Raphael, —  even  those  so  apparently  historic 
as  "  The  Vision  of  Constantine,"  "  The  Burning  of  Borgo," 
"  The  Death  of  Ananias,"4  and  "  The  Defeat  of  Attila." 
This  is  so,  because  the  design  in  them  is  to  represent  not 
general  ideas,  as  in  epic  art,  but  specific  persons;  and  not 
the  literal  facts  with  reference  to  these  persons,  as  in  his- 
toric art,  but  certain  conditions  which  will  manifest  their 
characters.  As  Fuseli  says,  in  the  third  of  his  "  Lectures  on 
Painting  ":-*'.  .  .  .  Leo,  with  his  train,  calmly  facing 
Attila,  or  deciding  on  his  tribunal  the  fate  of  captive  Sara- 
cens, tell  us  by  their  presence  that  they  are  the  heroes 
of  the  drama,  that  the  action  has  been  contrived  for  them, 
is  subordinate  to  them,  and  has  been  composed  to  illus- 
trate their  character." 

A  word  more  now  with  reference  to  dramatic  land- 
scape. We  mean  by  this  much  the  same  that  we  mean 
by  a  dramatic  description  of  a  landscape  in  poetry. 
Where,  under  the  influence  of  a  lyric  motive,  a  poet  would 
refer  to  natural  objects  in  words,  a  painter  would  depict 
them  with  his  brush.  To  show  clearly  what  is  meant,  let 
us  recall  the  difference  between  lyric  and  realistic  poetry. 
This  is  lyric,  representing  nature  as  subordinated  to  human 
thought  and  emotion,  /.  e.,  to  human  character, — in  this 

1  Fig.  36,  page  75,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

2  Fig.  80,  page  139,  idem. 

3  Fig.  163,  page  277,  idem.  ;  Fig.  16,  page  73,  "  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

4  Fig.  39,  page  79,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts"  ;   Fig.  94, 
page  288,  "  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 


DRAMATIC  PAINTING.  365 

case  to  human  character  impersonating  itself  in  the  clouds  : 

I  bring  fresh  showers  for  the  thirsting  flowers 

From  the  seas  and  the  streams  ; 
I  bear  light  shade  for  the  leaves  when  laid 

In  their  noon-day  dreams. 
From  my  wings  are  shaken  the  dews  that  waken 

The  sweet  buds,  every  one, 
When  rocked  to  rest  on  their  mother's  breast, 

As  she  dances  about  the  sun. 

The  Cloud:  Shelley. 

And  this  is  realistic,  representing  nature  as  of  equal  im- 
portance with  human  thought  and  emotion, — in  this  case, 
representing  nature  as  suggesting  them  : 

Soft  as  a  cloud  is  yon  blue  Ridge  —  the  Mere 
Seems  firm  as  solid  crystal,  breathless,  clear, 
And  motionless  ;  and,  to  the  gazer's  eye, 
Deeper  than  ocean  in  the  immensity 
Of  its  vague  mountains  and  unreal  sky  ! 

Evening  Voluntaries  :    Wordsworth. 

Of  paintings,  corresponding  to  these  poems,  it  is  easy  to 
perceive  that  certain  landscapes  resemble  the  former. 
They  are  those  in  which  the  aim  is  evidently  less  to  re- 
produce a  typical  scene,  in  order  to  illustrate  an  idea, 
which  would  make  them  epic ;  or  to  imitate  a  scene  ex- 
actly as  it  is,  which  would  make  them  realistic,  —  than  to 
depict  certain  features  because  they  seem  to  represent 
exactly  certain  moods  and  feelings  of  the  painter,  which 
features  therefore  he  so  adapts  as  to  represent  his  moods 
and  feelings  to  others.  A  good  example  of  this  is  afforded 
by  J.  F.  Millet's  "  Storm."  It  does  not  depict  any  scene 
which  any  one  can  recall  having  witnessed.  Therefore  it 
is  not  typical.  Nor  does  one  care  to  know  whether  the 

1  Fig.   152,  page  231,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts"  ;  see 
also  Fig.  17,  page  43,  and  Fig.  18,  page  45,  idem. 


366      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

painter  ever  did  witness  it.  The  interest  is  wholly  in  the 
individual  characterization.  It  is  the  painter's  thought 
and  feeling  with  reference  to  a  storm,  not  illustrated  by 
what  he  has  necessarily  seen,  but  embodied  in  a  form 
supposed  to  manifest  a  storm's  possible  effects.  The  same 
characteristics  are  apparent  in  Rottmann's  series  in  the 
New  Pinakothek  at  Munich,  of  encaustic  paintings  of  the 
historic  sites  of  ancient  Greece.  Their  main  object  is 
evidently  to  represent  these  cities  —  largely  through  at- 
mospheric effects  of  sunshine  or  storm  —  as  they  would 
be  if  a  condition  should  arise  in  which  the  thought  or 
feeling  of  the  painter  with  reference  to  them  could  be  fully 
realized.  For  obvious  reasons,  there  is  always  more  or 
less  danger  that  this  dramatic  —  and  the  same  is  true  of 
the  epic  —  tendency  will  in  landscapes  be  carried  too  far, 
as  is  done  in  some  impressionist  pictures  in  which,  in 
order  to  produce  certain  effects,  the  whole  scheme  of 
coloring  as  well  as  of  outlining  is  made  unnatural.  But, 
applied  within  proper  limitations,  a  moderate  amount  of 
epic  or  dramatic  feeling  may  add  greatly  to  a  painting's 
artistic  effectiveness. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE    EPIC,     REALISTIC,    AND    DRAMATIC    IN     SCULPTURE 
AND   ARCHITECTURE. 

The  Same  Principles  Apply  to  Sculpture  as  to  Painting  :  Epic — Realistic — 
Dramatic — Architectural  Effects  Dependent  on  Outline  in  the  Same 
Sense  as  Effects  of  Painting  and  Sculpture — Effects  of  Epic  Tendency 
in  Roundness — Of  Realistic,  in  Straight  Lines  and  Angles — Of  Dra- 
matic, in  Curves,  Straight  Lines,  and  Angles  Combined — Same  Respec- 
tive Effects  in  Human  Gesturing  —  Quotations  Confirming  these 
Conclusions — The  Conventional  Designations  of  Styles  of  Architecture 
are  not  Determined  by  any  Philosophic  Principle — What  is  Meant  by 
Significance  and  Form  and  the  Relations  between  them  in  Architecture 
— The  Three  General  Principles  of  Construction — Round  Caps  and 
Arches — Other  Correspondences  to  the  Epic — Flat  Caps,  Entabla- 
ture, and  Horizontality  —  Other  Correspondences  to  the  Realistic 
—  Pointed  Caps,  Mixed  Lines,  and  Verticality  and  other  Correspond- 
ences to  the  Dramatic — Subdivisions  of  these  Three  General  Styles. 

HTHE  application  to  sculpture  of  the  principles  that  we 
have  been  considering  need  not  detain  us  long,  pre- 
cisely the  same  conditions  being  realized  in  it  as  in  painting. 
The  numerous  figures  representing  abstract  conceptions 
like  "Justice,"  "  Mercy,"  " Charity,"  "  Faith,"  and  "  Hope," 
so  often  seen  in  prominent  civic  and  ecclesiastic  buildings, 
the  large  bronze  "  Bavaria  "  near  Munich,  and  the  larger 
"  Liberty  Enlightening  the  World  "  in  the  harbor  of  New 
York,  and,  in  the  National  Library  at  Washington,  the 
"  History"  by  French  and  the  "  Art  "  by  St.  Gaudens 
may  be  rightly  termed  symbolic.  The  classic  "Apollo 
and  Daphne,"  representing  the  god  clasping  the  maiden 

367 


368      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

just  as  she  is  turning  into  a  tree,  and  the  "  Nile  "  of  the 
Vatican,  a  huge  reclining  figure  around  and  on  which  a 
host  of  pigmies  are  swarming,  may  be  classed  as  allegoric '  / 
while  the  colossal  "  Moses "  by  Michael  Angelo,  and, 
with  the  accompanying  symbolic  figures  of  "  Night  "  and 
"  Day,"  the  statue  above  the  tomb  in  Florence  of  "  Giu- 
liano  de'  Medici,"2  as  well  also  as  many  of  the  classical 
representations  of  mythologic  deities  and  heroes,  such  as 
"Jupiter,"  "Minerva,"  "  Hercules,"  8  and  "  Theseus,"4 
may  be  ranked  as  heroic  or  epic  proper. 

Under  realistic  sculpture  we  may  group,  first,  that  large 
decorative  architectural  department  of  the  art,  extending 
from  imitations  of  human  figures  and  animals  down  to 
those  of  flowers,  fruit,  and  foliage,  which  abound  in  so 
many  corbels  and  capitals.5  Next  we  may  place  the  natu- 
ralistic bust  and  statue  of  portraiture,  the  excellence  of 
which  is  determined  mainly  by  its  scientific  accuracy. 
Finally,  to  a  third  group,  we  may  assign  commemorative 
historic  sculpture.  In  this,  with  more  exercise  of  imagi- 
nation, accuracy  must  still  remain  prominent,  whether 
illustrated  in  ideal  monuments  of  great  size  and  elaborate 
design  representing  actual  personages,  or  in  more  minute 
work  found  in  such  products  as  the  celebrated  bronze 
doors6  of  the  Baptistery  at  Florence,  on  which  Pisano  and 
Ghiberti  represented  supposed  scenes  from  Biblical  his- 
tory, or  as  the  doors  of  the  Capitol  at  Washington,  on 

1  See  also  "  The  Resurrection,"  Fig.  82,  page  143,  of  "  Painting,  Sculp- 
ture, and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,"  and  the  group  from  the 
Mausoleum  of  Maria  Christina,  Fig.  22,  page  50,  idem. 

2  Fig.  170,  page  301,  idem. 

3  Fig.  i.  page  20,  idem. 

4 Fig.  93,  page  285,  "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

6  See  Chapter  XX.  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

6  Fig.  155,  page  247,  idem. 


DRAMATIC  SCULPTURE.  369 

which  Crawford  and  Rogers  represented  supposed  scenes 
from  American  history. 

In  the  dramatic  form  of  this  art,  we  find,  first,  corre- 
sponding to  lyric  poetry  and  character-painting,  charac- 
ter-sculpture. This  includes  all  that  large  class  of  statues 
which  are  attractive  mainly  on  account  of  certain  traits  of 
beauty  and  grace  which  are  supposed  to  be  manifested  in 
figure  and  posture.  The  classical  "  Faun  "  '  of  Praxiteles 
and  the  "  Cupid  Bending  his  Bow,"  as  well  as  the  ordi- 
nary representations  of  cherubs  or  of  mermaids  blowing 
water  in  a  fountain,  exemplify  this  style.  That  their 
object  is  neither  to  illustrate  ideas  through  a  typical  form 
as  in  the  epic,  nor  to  recall  what  actually  exists  as  in  the 
realistic,  is  evident  without  argument.  Corresponding  to 
pantomimic  painting,  again,  we  have  equally  pantomimic 
sculpture.  We  may  apply  the  term  either  to  single 
figures  like  the  Greek  "  Discobolus  " 2  or  to  groups  like 
the  Greek  "  Wrestlers  "  3  or  like  the  relief  called  "  The  Sol- 
dier's Return  "  4  on  one  side  of  the  great  national  German 
monument  near  Bingen-on-the-Rhine.  Last,  in  the  class 
that  we  may  term  dramatic  proper,  we  may  place  statues 
like  the  well-known  "  Laocoon  "  5  and  "  Dying  Galatian 
[or  Gladiator],"  6  also  many  groups  with  which  the  Greeks 
filled  the  pediments  of  their  temples.  However,  some  of 
the  most  renowned  of  these,  like  that  termed  "  Niobe  7  and 

1  Fig.  83,  page  144,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

2  Fig.  27,  page  83,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

3  Fig.  21,  page  77,  idem. 

4  Fig.  52,  page  176,  idem  ;   Fig.  23,  page  51,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch, 
as  Rep.  Arts." 

6  Fig.  75,  page  226,  "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form"  ;  Fig.  21,  page  49, 
"Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

6  Fig.  1 66,  page  283,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

7  Fig.  45,  page  146,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 


370      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

her  Children,"   now  in  the  British  Museum  in  London, 
appear  to  be  less  dramatic  than  epic. 

Until  one  has  thought  over  the  subject,  architectural 
effects  seem  dependent  upon  the  constructive  elements  of 
the  form,  as  in  curves,  straight  lines,  and  angles,  to  a  far 
greater  extent  than  do  those  of  painting  and  sculpture. 
The  latter  arts  represent  figures,  as  of  men,  animals,  and 
trees,  which  we  are  accustomed  to  accept  from  nature  as 
wholes,  without  analysis  of  their  parts.  Nevertheless,  we 
do  analyze  the  parts  whenever  the  figures  produce  an 
epic,  a  realistic,  or  a  dramatic  effect.  This  is  a  fact  of 
which  we  may  remain  unconscious  when  looking  at  a 
picture  or  a  statue,  but  not,  if  we  are  to  be  influenced  by 
the  effect,  when  looking  at  a  building.  For  this  reason, 
before  going  farther,  it  seems  well  to  notice  that  the  fact 
is  really  exemplified  in  all  the  arts  of  sight — exactly,  in- 
deed, as  it  has  already  been  shown  to  be  exemplified  in  all 
the  arts  of  sound.  Almost  all  the  verses  quoted  in  Chap- 
ters XVI.  to  XIX.  were  short  extracts  necessarily  repre- 
senting only  certain  parts  of  whole  poems.  No  attention 
was  there  directed  to  this  fact,  because  it  was  not  neces- 
sary. We  are  always  accustomed  to  judge  of  poetry  or  mu- 
sic by  considering  separate  sentences  or  phrases.  Besides 
this,  as  we  employ  sounds  in  language,  it  is  comparatively 
easy  for  us  to  recognize  that  every  intonation  or  articula- 
tion has  its  own  significance.  Of  paintings  or  statues,  how- 
ever, we  not  only  judge  as  wholes,  as  has  been  said,  but  — 
mainly  for  this  very  reason  —  we  do  not  often,  when  con- 
sidering them,  associate  a  separate  significance  with  each 
constituent  element  of  the  form.  Nevertheless,  that  we 
may  and  often  should  do  this,  is  shown  by  illustrations, 
more  than  enough  to  establish  the  general  principle,  in 
the  volume  of  this  series  entitled  "  Painting,  Sculpture, 


EPIC,   REALISTIC,   AND  DRAMATIC  OUTLINES.    371 

and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts."  At  present, 
we  are  interested  in  the  subject  so  far  only  as  it  has  a 
bearing  upon  the  representation,  to  some  extent  in  paint- 
ing and  sculpture,  but  especially  in  architecture,  of  an 
epic,  realistic,  or  dramatic  effect. 

In  considering  this  subject,  let  us  start  by  recalling  that, 
as  manifested  in  the  conditions  of  the  form,  the  epic  is 
that  which  seems  to  have  been  least  moulded  to  the  sub- 
ject-matter,— i.  e.y  to  the  thought,  feeling,  purpose,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  that  may  be  supposed  to  be  underneath 
the  form  ;  that  the  realistic  is  that  which  seems  to  have 
been  most  exactly  moulded  to  it  ;  and  the  dramatic  is 
that  which  seems  to  have  been  moulded  to  it,  so  to  speak, 
in  excess.  Applying  this  principle  to  outlines,  we  shall 
find  that,  as  a  rule,  an  absence  of  material  interference, 
which,  in  this  case,  would  represent  the  moulding  purpose 
—therefore  a  free,  unimpeded  expression  of  the  forces 
underlying  natural  life,  corresponding  in  this  to  the  epic 
condition — tends  to  produce  a  predominance  of  curves. 
The  eye  itself  is  circular,  and  the  field  of  vision  which  it 
views  at  any  one  moment  always  appears  to  be  the  same. 
So  do  the  horizon  and  the  zenith,  and  so,  too,  do  most 
of  the  objects  which  they  contain, — the  heaving  moun- 
tain, the  rising  smoke  or  vapor,  the  rolling  wave,  the 
gushing  fountain,  the  rippling  stream,  the  bubbles  of  its 
water,  the  pebbles  of  its  channels,  every  plant  with  all 
of  its  developments,  and  every  animal  with  all  of  its 
movements.  Again  we  shall  find  that  a  presence  of 
material  interference  when  exactly  fitted  to  mould  nature 
to  its  own  purposes  —  corresponding  to  the  realistic, 
especially  to  this  as  developed  from  the  scientific  condi- 
tion (see  page  312) — is  apt  to  result  in  straight  lines  and 
angles,  i.  e.,  in  rectangular  forms.  Boxes  and  buildings 


372      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

and  the  majority  of  the  objects  constructed  by  men  have 
this  shape ;  and,  by  way  of  association,  the  same  shape, 
when  we  see  it  in  the  horizontal  hill-top,  or  in  the  sharply 
perpendicular  cliff  or  peak,  causes  us  to  think  often,  and 
to  say,  that  it  looks  precisely  as  if  a  man  had  been  at 
work  levelling  and  blasting.  Once  more,  we  shall  find  that 
material  interference  when  carried  to  excess — correspond- 
ing to  the  dramatic  condition — leads  to  the  presence,  and 
in  exaggerated  conditions  too,  of  all  forms  of  outlines  that 
have  been  mentioned,  i.e.,  curves,  straight  lines,  and  angles. 
It  is  the  complication  and  irregularity  arising  from  such 
combinations  which,  by  calling  attention  to  the  effect 
produced  rather  than  to  that  which  has  produced  it, 
result  in  the  dramatic.  These  may  be  comparatively 
slight  in  their  influence,  as  in  that  which  fascinates  us  in 
a  curio ;  or  they  may  be  of  grander  import,  as  when  the 
tree  and  bush  are  wreathed  above  the  precipice,  or  as 
when  the  dome-like  mountain  and  the  rolling  cloud  lift 
above  the  sharp  peak  and  the  cloven  crag,  while  far  below 
them  lies  a  flat  plain  or  lake.  But  it  is  always  in  connec- 
tion with  such  blendings  of  effects  that  the  most  exciting 
appeal  is  made,  through  the  emotions,  to  the  imagination. 
Notice,  too,  that  at  the  basis  of  this  phase  of  variety 
essential  to  dramatic  effect,  lies  always  a  suggestion  of 
force  which  has  broken  up  the  sort  of  development  in 
nature  which  one  may  term  normal, — force  that  seems 
exerted  like  that  of  the  tempest  when  it  tosses  the  wave 
to  edges  and  points  of  spray,  and  tears  the  cloud  to 
shreds,  or  like  that  of  the  volcano  when  it  cleaves  the 
mountain  and  levels  the  cliff,  and  is  tracked  everywhere 
by  the  results  of  cracking  and  crystallizing.  The  legit- 
imate influences  upon  our  minds  of  such  appearances  of 
violence  are  themselves  violent,  or,  as  we  say,  exciting. 


EffC,  REALISTIC,  AND  DRAMA  TIC  EXPRESSION.    373 

They  are  influences,  too,  the  characteristic  effects  of  which 
might  be  suggested  by  what  we  have  all  experienced  in 
the  realm  of  touch.  From  this  we  have  learned  that 
while  the  rounded  and  regular  surfaces  are,  as  a  rule, 
agreeable,  the  sharp  and  irregular  pierce  and  cut ;  that 
while  the  globules  of  the  healing  oils  belong,  as  a  rule,  to 
the  one  class,  those  of  the  irritating  salts  belong  to  the  other. 
Now  add  to  this  observation  with  reference  to  the  ex- 
pression of  outlines  in  material  nature,  another  with 
reference  to  the  expression  of  thoughts  or  emotions  in 
the  human  form.  Whenever  these  find  vent  under  the 
predominating  influence  of  a  subjective  or  instinctive 
prompting,  corresponding  to  the  epic ;  in  other  words, 
whenever,  wholly  from  within,  a  man  is  inspired  to  rap- 
ture, enthusiasm,  and  eloquence,  either  of  a  joyous  or 
serious  character,  then  his  gait,  postures,  gestures,  and  all 
the  movements  of  his  body,  in  the  degree  in  which  his  senti- 
ment is  able  to  find  unimpeded  expression  in  his  physical 
frame,  will  take  the  form  of  free,  large,  graceful  curves. 
But  whenever  his  thoughts  or  emotions  find  vent  under  a 
predominating  influence  of  a  relative  or  reflective  prompt- 
ing corresponding  to  the  realistic — in  other  words,  when- 
ever he  is  actuated  by  a  desire,  conscientious,  self-conscious, 
and  therefore  more  or  less  constrained,  to  accommodate 
expression  exactly  to  that  which  it  is  to  express,  then 
his  form  will  be  erect,  and  his  gestures  straight  and  stiff, 
and,  so  far  as  is  necessary  in  order  to  make  them  straight, 
angular.  And  once  more,  whenever  he  is  under  a  pre- 
dominating influence  of  objective  or  emotive  promptings, 
corresponding  to  the  dramatic — in  other  words,  whenever 
his  chief  impulse  is  to  emphasize  in  the  forms  of  expres- 
sion that  which  in  view  of  outward  circumstances  or  con- 
sequences has  stirred  him  profoundly,  then  the  excitement 


374      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

or  passion  either  joyous  or  grievous,  in  the  degree  in 
which  it  is  effectively  manifested,  will  double  up  his  form, 
throw  out  his  chin,  bend  violently  his  elbows,  knees,  and 
wrists,  and  make  all  his  body  a  human  representation  of 
the  same  sort  of  varied  irregularity  already  described  in 
the  forms  of  nature  which  have  been  said  to  represent  the 
same  tendency. 

There  are  reasons,  therefore,  founded  both  upon  the 
principle  of  association  and  upon  methods  of  expression 
pertaining  to  the  very  nature  of  our  body,  why  the 
three  tendencies  of  form  should  find  expression  as  has 
here  been  indicated.  "  We  have  renewedly  to  refer," 
says  S.  P.  Long  in  his  "Art,  its  Laws,  and  the  Reasons 
for  Them,"  "  to  the  ancient  Greek  sculptures,  in  which  a 
correspondence  between  the  disposition  of  the  figure  and 
the  sentiment  of  the  subject  will  always  be  found,  —  the 
forms  of  virtue  and  of  wisdom"  —  religious,  as  will  be 
noticed  — "  being  less  varied  than  those  of  pleasure." 
Again  he  speaks  of  the  "  Minerva's  position  "  as  "  being 
perpendicular,  and  her  drapery  descending  in  long  unin- 
terrupted lines  .  .  .  the  plain,  the  simple,  the  dig- 
nified and  the  intellectual  "  —  she  was  the  Goddess  of 
Wisdom  —  ''being  the  sentiment."  Charles  Blanc,  too, 
in  his  "  Grammar  of  Painting  and  Engraving,"  speaks  of 
"  the  horizontals,  which  express  in  nature  the  calmness  of 
the  sea,  the  majesty  of  the  far-off  horizon,  the  vegetable 
tranquillity  of  the  strong  resisting  trees,  the  quietude  of 
the  globe,  after  the  catastrophes  that  have  upheaved  it "  ; 
and  again,  in  describing  the  lines  in  two  dramatic  paint- 
ings, he  says :  "  Poussin  torments  and  twists  his  in  the 
pictures  of  *  Pyrrhus  Saved,'  and  '  The  Sabines '  "  '  ;  and 
Barry  also  in  his  "  Lectures  of  the  Royal  Academicians," 

1  See  Fig.  36,  page  75,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


STYLES  OF  ARCHITECTURE.  575 

referring  to  the  Laocoon,1  one  of  the  foremost  existing 
specimens  of  dramatic  sculpture,1  says  that  "  the  convex 
lines  predominate  and  the  forms  are  angular." 

Enough  has  been  indicated  now  with  reference  to  the 
artistic  effects  of  mere  outlines  to  show  that  it  is  reason- 
able to  suppose  that  even  an  art  like  architecture,  wholly 
dependent,  as  it  is,  upon  these  effects,  should  be  able  to 
manifest  an  epic,  a  realistic,  and  a  dramatic  tendency.  It 
is  true  that  the  forms  of  this  art  are  not  usually  classified 
according  to  this  principle  ;  and  that  its  products,  like 
those  of  poetry,  are  already  divided  into  different  styles, 
the  names  of  which  have  been  fixed  for  years,  and  are 
to-day  as  familiar  to  most  of  us  "as  are  household  words. 
At  the  same  time,  the  most  superficial  examination  of 
what  is  meant  by  terms  like  Egyptian,  Assyrian,  Grecian, 
Reviewed  Grecian,  Moorish,  Byzantine,  Saracenic,  Ro- 
manesque, Renaissance,  Gothic,  must  convince  us  that, 
however  these  may  serve  the  purpose  of  indicating 
chronological  or  national  developments  of  the  art,  they 
are  not  the  results  of  any  philosophic  principle  of 
classification. 

But  in  architecture  is  a  classification  based  upon  such  a 
principle  possible  ;  and  is  there  any  sense  in  which  archi- 
tecture can  be  termed  epic,  realistic,  or  dramatic  ?  The 
moment  that  we  ask  these  questions,  a  new  difficulty  con- 
fronts us.  All  these  terms,  as  has  been  shown,  imply  the 
influence  in  architecture  of  significance  as  well  as  of  form. 
But  can  it  be  said  that  in  any  way  reasonably  analogous 
to  that  exemplified  in  the  other  arts,  architecture  can 
manifest  significance  ?  This  is  evidently  the  first  ques- 
tion that  must  be  asked  here.  Can  it  be  answered  satisfac- 

1  See  Fig.  21,  page  49,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts"  ;  Fig. 
75,  page  226,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 


376      KF.rKKXKXTATlVR   SIGNIFICANCE   OP  FORM. 

torily  ?  It  can.  The  subject  is  fully  discussed  on  pages 
92  to  96  and  227  and  228  of  "  Art  in  Theory,"  as  well  as 
in  Chapters  XVII.  to  XIX.  of  "  Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  Arts."  In  these  places  it 
is  shown  that  the  plan  of  a  building  may  represent  the 
general  purpose  for  which  it  is  designed,  and  also  that 
each  individual  feature  in  it  may  represent  some  special 
constructive  purpose.  The  plan,  for  instance,  may  indi- 
cate a  theatre,  or  a  temple  ;  and  each  individual  pillar, 
bracket,  or  beam  may  indicate  the  exact  degree  of  sup- 
port for  which  it  is  intended.  In  these  regards,  archi- 
tecture fulfils  the  analogies  of  the  other  arts,  in  which 
the  product  as  a  whole  has  a  general  significance,  and 
each  individual  note,  word,  line,  or  color,  as  related  to 
each  other  factor  of  the  same  kind,  has  a  special  harmonic, 
grammatic,  or  proportional  significance. 

Bearing  these  facts  in  mind,  it  is  easy  enough  to  recog- 
nize that  certain  buildings  may  be  suggestive  of  the  sub- 
ordination of  the  form  to  general  or  special  constructive 
principles  developed  in  it,  and  may  thus,  in  the  main,  ful- 
fil the  conditions  of  epic  art  ;  that  other  buildings  may  be 
suggestive  mainly  of  the  exact  adaptation  of  the  construc- 
tive principles  to  the  constructed  material,  suggestive,  t.  e.t 
of  the  correlation  of  the  one  to  the  other,  and  may  thus  ful- 
fil, in  the  main,  the  conditions  of  realistic^  in  the  sense  of 
scientific,  art  ;  and  that  other  buildings  may  be  suggestive 
of  the  subordination  of  the  constructive  principles  to  the 
method  of  rendering  the  forms  aesthetically  effective,  and 
thus  fulfil,  in  the  main,  the  conditions  of  dramatic  art. 
This  system  of  classification  certainly  seems  satisfactory, 
whether  judged  by  the  standards  of  philosophy  or  of  aes- 
thetics ;  and  that  it  is  not  adopted  merely  because  a  con- 
venient way  of  making  architectural  developments  conform 


THE  THREE  STYLES  OF  ARCHITECTURE.    377 

to  what  in  this  book  has  been  said  of  the  other  arts,  may 
be  shown  by  the  following  quotation  from  an  article  by 
Mr.  E.  A.  Freeman  in  the  "  Fortnightly  Review,"  entitled 
"  The  Origin  and  Growth  of  Romanesque  Architecture.'* 
"To  judge,"  he  says,  "from  the  popular  disputes  about 
Law  Courts  and  the  like,  people  in  general  group  all  forms 
of  architecture  under  two  heads.  Architecture  is  supposed 
to  be  divided  into  two  great  styles,  '  Grecian '  and 
'  Gothic ' ;  and  it  is  thought  a  very  good  joke  to  call  the 
admirers  of  the  supposed  styles  respectively  Greeks  and 
Goths.  It  is  not  very  easy  to  find  out  what  people  who 
talk  in  this  way  mean  by  the  words  which  they  use.  The 
only  sound  classification  of  styles  of  architecture  is  that 
which  arranges  them  according  to  their  leading  principles 
of  construction.  Of  such  principles,  as  far  as  we  know  at 
present,  there  are  only  three  ;  more  accurately  speaking, 
there  are  only  two,  one  of  which  again  falls  into  two  great 
subdivisions.  The  two  great  systems  of  construction  are 
the  entablature  and  the  arch,  and  the  arch,  again,  may  be 
either  round  or  pointed.  We  thus  get  three  distinct  forms 
of  construction,  the  entablature,  the  round  arch,  and  the 
pointed  arch.  And  each  of  these  principles  of  construction 
has  been,  in  its  own  time  and  place,  the  animating  prin- 
ciple of  a  style  of  architecture."  Here  then  are  three 
forms  of  architecture,  and  if  one  can  show  that  they  cor- 
respond in  any  way  to  the  three  forms  already  indicated 
as  existing  in  all  the  other  arts,  he  can  have  at  least  one 
authority  sustaining  the  general  truthfulness  of  the  classi- 
fication on  page  325.  Take,  for  instance,  changing  the  or- 
der in  which  these  styles  are  mentioned  by  Mr.  Freeman, 
so  as  to  make  them  conform  to  the  method  that  has  been 
adopted  in  the  other  arts, — take  the  architecture  of  the 
round  arch,  or,  as  it  is  termed  in  the  chart  on  page  325,  the 


3/8      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

architecture  of  vaulted  support,  this  phrase  being  used 
because  it  seems  the  best  both  to  differentiate  this  style 
from  all  others,  and  to  apply  to  all  features  in  which 
identical  characteristics  usually  appear,  namely  in  caps, 
gables,  ceilings,  roofs,  and  domes.  Suppose  that  we  ask 
of  what  this  style  is  significant,  in  other  words,  for  what 
it  seems  intended,  of  what  it  reminds  us?  There  is  but 
one  answer.  "  It  is  the  generic  office  of  an  arch,"  says 
Professor  Bascom,  in  his  "  Science  of  Beauty,"  "  to  bear  a 
burden.  It  is  this  very  burden  which  consolidates  and 
strengthens  it,  and  enables  the  piers  and  abutments  to 
endure  its  side  thrusts."  Whether  perceived  in  the  found- 
ations of  a  bridge  or  of  a  building,  in  the  capping  of  a 
window  or  of  a  porch,  or  forming,  as  it  does,  the  whole 
contour  of  a  dome,  vaulted  support,  of  which  the  round 
arch  is  typical,  is  always  suggestive  of  the  constructive  prin- 
ciple exemplified  in  the  form.  But  whatever  is  suggestive, 
and  mainly  suggestive,  of  this,  manifests,  according  to  what 
was  said  on  page  311,  the  epic  tendency.  "  A  Romanesque 
church,"  says  Mr.  Freeman,  referring  to  one  phase  of  this 
style,  "  always  seems  to  carry  me  nearer  than  any  other 
building  to  the  men  who  dwelt  or  worshipped  within  its 
walls."  This  is  very  nearly  the  same  as  if  he  had  said  "  to 
carry  my  thoughts  back  to  those  who  erected  the  build- 
ing, and  to  their  reasons  for  erecting  it  as  they  did  " — in 
other  words,  to  the  building's  conditioning  antecedents. 

But  there  are  other  features  necessarily  associated  with 
this  style,  which  also  ally  it  to  the  epic.  The  round  arch 
cannot  be  constructed  of  stone  except  as  it  is  sprung  from 
piers  of  great  size  and  strength,  and  this — to  go  no  far- 
ther— produces  that  effect  of  grandeur,  which  we  have 
found  to  be  characteristic  of  the  epic  in  other  arts.  This 
effect  is  very  noticeable  in  pure  specimens  of  the  style,  as 


ARCHITECTURE   OF    VAULTED   SUPPORT.          3/9 

in  the  Suleymaniya  Mosque *  or  in  St.  Sophia,8  at  Constanti- 
nople ;  but  it  is  also  made  noticeable,  as  if  their  artists  had 
recognized  the  necessity  of  an  appearance  of  strength  as  a 
matter  of  artistic  congruity,  in  buildings  in  which  this 
style  is  blended  with  the  Grecian,  as  in  St.  Peter's  at  Rome 3 
and  St.  Isaac's  at  St.  Petersburg.4  The  great  blocks  of 
stone  that  uphold  all  the  arches,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
domes  of  these  buildings,  are  as  different  as  possible  from 
the  innumerable  shafts,  slender  in  shape  and  minutely 
chiselled,  which,  massed  together,  support  the  pointed 
ceilings  of  a  Gothic  cathedral.5  Not  less  noteworthy  are 
the  differences  in  the  accentuation  of  the  parts  as  separated 
from  one  another.  No  greater  contrast  could  be  afforded 
than  that  between  the  even  fronts  of  Suleymaniya  Mosque 
or  St.  Sophia, — even  between  the  slight  relief  given  to  the 
pilasters  of  St.  Peter's, — and  the  width  of  half  the  chancel 
characterizing  the  flying  buttresses  of  the  Gothic  Notre 
Dame  at  Paris.  Now  all  these  kinds  of  effects,  peculiar  to 
the  architecture  of  the  round  arch,  are  distinctively  epic. 
Correggio's  "  Holy  Night,"  6  Murillo's  "  Immaculate  Con- 
ception," Michael  Angelo's  pictures  in  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
or  his  statues  of  "  Moses  "  or  of  "  Night  and  JDay,"  7  are 
characterized  by  a  size  of  parts  and  a  vagueness  of  outline 
which,  while  producing  effects  of  grandeur,  often  border 
on  a  disregard  of  those  of  nature.  Neither  in  the  paintings 

1  Fig.  30,  page  86,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

2  Fig.  42,  page  123,  idem  ;  Fig.  40,  page  80,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch, 
as  Rep.  Arts." 

3  Fig.  23,  page  78,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

4Fig.  12,  page  35,  "Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

5  See  Cologne  Cathedral,  Fig.  41,  page  81,  also  Beverley  Minster,  Fig.  43, 
page  84,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts  "  ;  also  Fig.  2,  page  17, 
Fig.   78,  page  235,  and  Fig.  79,  page  256,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

6  Fig.  70,  page  215,  "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

7  Fig.  170,  page  301,  "Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


380      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

nor  in  the  statues  is  there  anything  to  suggest  the 
scrupulous  regard  for  details  that  is  apparent  in  so  many 
Dutch  pictures  and  Italian  busts.  Think  how  the  faces 
of  angels  and  cherubs  in  all  the  former  paintings  blend 
with  one  another  and  the  clouds,  making  this  epic  art  in 
a  sense  the  forerunner  of  modern  impressionalism. 

We  come  now  to  the  architecture,  as  Mr.  Freeman  calls 
it,  of  the  entablature,  termed  in  the  chart  on  page  325  that 
of  horizontal  support.  This  term,  like  that  given  to  the  style 
just  considered,  seems  the  one  best  adapted  to  differentiate 
it  from  all  others.  It  may  be  applied,  too,  to  all  the  feat- 
ures exhibiting  the  method,  whether  in  the  entablature 
itself,  or  in  the  caps,  cornices,  or  even  pediments,  the 
sides  of  which  are  so  nearly  flat  that  they  cannot  be  sup- 
posed to  be  supported  either  in  the  vaulted  method  of  the 
style  already  considered,  or  in  the  perpendicular  method 
of  the  style  to  be  considered  hereafter.  That  these  state- 
ments are  justified  will  be  recognized  at  a  glance  by  any 
one  who  will  contrast  examples  of  these  different  styles.1 
In  typical  architecture  of  vaulted  support,  there  is  often 
visible  scarcely  a  single  horizontal  straight  line,  and  never 
many  of  these  lines,  while  in  the  architecture  of  perpen- 
dicular support,  every  other  effect — even  the  thrust  of  the 
arches — is  entirely  subordinated  to  that  of  verticality. 
In  speaking  of  the  significance  of  what  is  termed  the 
Greek  style,  "  It  is  universally  felt,"  says  Mr.  Freeman, 
"  that  the  architecture  of  the  entablature  is  the  expres- 
sion of  horizontal  extension."  "  The  old  predominance 
of  horizontalism,"  says  Prof.  Wyatt,  in  his  "  Fine  Art," 

1  Compare  Suleymaniya  Mosque,  Fig.  30,  page  86,  with  Fig.  2,  page  17, 
"  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form"  ;  St.  Sophia,  Fig.  40,  page  80, or  St.  Mark's, 
Fig.  15,  page  37,  with  the  Theseum,  Fig.  14,  page  36,  and  also  with 
Cologne  Cathedral,  Fig.  41,  page  81,  all  in  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as 
Rep.  Arts." 


ARCHITECTURE   OF  HORIZONTAL    SUPPORT.       381 

"  has  shown  men  thinking  of  themselves  and  running 
parallel  with  the  soil,  '  of  the  earth,  earthy,'  rather  thanl 
breaking  away  from  it."  Could  any  language  have  been 
framed  to  express  more  accurately  than  do  these  words 
of  Professor  Wyatt  that  parallelism  between  conception 
and  form  which  in  this  book  has  been  said  to  charac- 
terize the  realistic,  or  scientific-artistic,  tendency  ?  Or 
look  at  the  subject  in  another  light,  this  style,  even  where 
it  does  not  reveal  horizontal  lines  alone  but  vertical,  and, 
as  in  the  pediments,  slanting,  always  manifests  in  an  ex- 
ceptional degree  continuity,  parallelism,  and,  as  in  the 
pediments,  an  exact  conformity  of  equivalents,  or  balance. 
All  these  are  effects  that  rarely  impress  us  with  a  sense  of 
underlying  strength,  as  do  the  vast  domes  that  rest  above 
huge  blocks  of  masonry  in  a  style  like  that  of  St.  Sophia  l ; 
or  that  appear  artistically  striking,  as  do  the  aspiring 
arches  to  which  thousands  of  frailly  constructed  filaments 
in  pillars  and  windows  point  in  a  style  like  that  of  Cologne 
Cathedral.2  The  flat  caps  and  horizontal  lines  rather 
elicit  our  admiration  for  the  perfect  adaptation  of  the 
parts  to  one  another  and  to  the  whole,  and  thus  suggest 
mechanical  accuracy,  and  the  testing  of  every  appearance 
by  square  and  plummet.  With  good  reason,  therefore, 
can  this  style  be  considered  as  in  the  chart  on  page  325  a 
development  of  the  realistic  in  the  sense  of  scientific 
tendency.  In  some  of  the  arts  this  tendency  is  supposed 
to  be  indicative  of  inferiority.  But  even  if  such  a  sup- 
position were  well  founded,  it  would  not  follow  that  it 
could  be  justified  when  applied  to  architecture,  simply 
because  scientific  and  mechanical  contrivance  are  more 

1  See  Fig.  42,  page  123,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form"  ;  or  Fig.  40,  page 
80,   "Paint.,   Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

2  See  Fig.  2,  page  17,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form  "  ;  or  Fig.  41,  page  81, 
"  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


382      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

legitimate  in  buildings  than  in  poetry  or  painting.  The 
classification  here  made,  therefore,  need  not  be  supposed 
to  deprive  the  Egyptian,  Renaissance,  or  Greek  architect- 
ure, in  which  this  horizontalism  predominates,  of  its 
artistic  pre-eminence. 

But  this  style  of  architecture  is  allied  not  only  to  the 
scientific  tendency.  The  Greek  form  of  it  may  be  shown 
to  be  allied  to  the  distinctively  historic  phase  of  this 
tendency.  Mr.  Freeman  calls  it  the  architecture  of  the  en- 
tablature. But  what  is  an  entablature?  It  is  that  part 
connected  with  a  column  which  is  over  the  capital,  including 
the  architrave,  frieze,  and  cornice.  The  entablature,  there- 
fore, is  only  the  crowning  feature  of  the  column.  It  im- 
plies the  column,  and  is  a  development  in  connection  with 
it.  But  what  is  the  column,  or  better,  what  does  it  mean  ? 
From  the  time  when  a  rude  stone  was  set  up  above  the 
buried  form  of  a  great  man  of  the  desert,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  Egyptian  obelisk,  what  meaning  has  it  had  if  not 
historic?  For  what  has  it  been  used,  if  not  to  commemo- 
rate persons  or  events  ?  Accordingly,  though  the  col- 
onnade of  the  Greek  temple  was  undoubtedly  used  in 
part,  because  these  temples  were  modelled  upon  primitive 
roofs  supported  by  poles,1  why  may  it  not  also  have  been 
derived  in  part,  especially  as  developed  into  its  more 
elaborated  forms,  from  a  desire  to  commemorate  ?  What 
was  the  entablature  but  the  fitting  crown  of  a  collection 
of  columns8 ;  and  where  more  appropriately  than  in  it 
could  be  placed  the  statuary  illustrating  the  events  in 
which  those  to  whose  honor  the  temples  were  erected 
were  supposed  to  have  figured  ? 

1  See  pages  374  to  377  of  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

2  Rows  of  like  stone  lanterns,  high  enough  to  be  columns,  may  be  seen  in 
Japan  to-day,  all  together  commemorative  of  some  one  man. 


ARCHITECTURE   OF  PERPENDICULAR   SUPPORT.      383 

The  last  of  the  three  styles  that  we  are  considering  is 
what  Mr.  Freeman  terms  the  architecture  of  the  pointed 
arch,  but  which,  for  reasons  similar  to  those  already  given 
when  speaking  of  the  other  styles,  is  termed  in  the  chart 
on  page  325  the  architecture  of  perpendicular  support. 
This  phrase  need  not  apply  solely  to  perpendicular 
straight  lines.  It  may  apply  to  arches  in  case  they  be 
sharply  pointed.  As  a  fact,  when  practically  developed, 
the  style  always  does  include  arches  in  this  form.  Notice 
now  that,  so  far  as  it  does  this,  it  necessarily  includes  all 
the  forms  entering  into  the  two  other  styles.  At  the 
points  of  the  arches,  there  are  angles,  and  in  other  parts 
of  them  there  are  curves,  while  everywhere  there  are  mul- 
titudes of  straight  lines,  most  of  them  perpendicular,  as  in 
the  excessive  parallelism  in  buttresses  and  pinnacles;  but 
some  lines  are  also  horizontal.  This  combination  of  forms 
makes  this  third  class  of  architecture  both  a  blending 
and  —  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  contrast  neces- 
sarily emphasizes  —  an  emphasizing  of  the  features  enter- 
ing into  the  two  other  classes,  exactly  as  is  the  case 
with  every  third  class  throughout  all  the  corresponding 
classifications  attempted  in  this  volume.  Notice  the  state- 
ments on  pages  62  and  271  ;  and  recall  the  arguments  in 
Chapters  V.  to  XII.,  showing  that  a  combination  of  the 
requirements  essential  to  religion  and  to  science  results 
in  the  artistic.  When  we  consider,  too,  the  architectural 
significance  of  the  effects  of  mixed  lines,  such  as  have 
just  been  described,  we  shall  find  other  reasons  for  allying 
this  style  with  the  distinctly  artistic.  It  is  evident,  for 
instance,  that  the  great  verticality  of  the  arch  in  a  cathe- 
dral nave  results  from  a  desire  to  increase  its  apparent 
height.  But  why  should  this  be  increased  ?  Why  but 
to  make  the  building  as  a  work  of  art  more  aesthetically 


384      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

effective,  which,  as  we  have  found,  is  the  chief  impelling 
reason  for  every  dramatic  development.  Again,  in  itself 
considered,  a  roof  with  a  pointed  apex  affords  the  most 
satisfactory  kind  of  a  water-shed,  and,  in  this  regard,  it 
may  be  said  to  be  an  expression  of  the  idea  of  protection. 
But  in  many  parts  of  a  building  where,  nevertheless,  a 
pointed  arch  is  used,  as  over  windows  and  doors,  it  is  not 
needed  to  afford  protection  in  the  same  sense  in  which 
the  round  arch  is  needed  in  order  to  afford  support. 
When  therefore  we  perceive  this  pointed  arch  in  such 
places,  places  in  which  it  is  needed,  if  at  all,  only  slightly, 
we  are  forced  to  infer  that  it  is  used  merely  for  the  sake 
of  its  appearance, —  in  other  words,  for  an  artistic  purpose, 
i.  e.,  in  order  to  produce  effects  of  harmony  between 
different  parts  of  the  building.  Thus,  whether  we  con- 
sider the  relation  of  the  pointed  arch  to  the  roof,  or  to 
the  cappings,  we  can  perceive  a  sense  in  which  it  may  be 
looked  upon  as  a  development  of  the  distinctively  artistic 
tendency.  But  this  tendency  is  manifested  not  alone  in 
the  pointed  arch,  but  also  in  the  bewildering  complexity 
of  lines  of  other  kinds  that  accompany  this  arch, —  of 
spaces  so  enormous,  yet  so  minutely  elaborated,  of  out- 
lines the  strongest  in  architecture,  yet  broken  into  the 
most  delicate  subdivisions,  many  of  them  massed  against 
the  buttresses,  yet  others  by  themselves,  drooping  like 
feathers  to  form  tracery,  —  effects  which  are  sometimes 
augmented,  too,  as  in  the  Arabesque  and  Venetian  styles, 
by  colors  as  varied  as  are  the  outlines.  Could  anything 
afford  a  better  analogue  to  the  brilliant  and  striking  re- 
sults of  what  we  have  termed  the  dramatic  in  painting 
and  sculpture  ?  "  In  a  grand  Gothic  building,"  says  Mr. 
Freeman,  "  the  purely  artistic  effect  is  so  perfect,  so  en- 
trancing that  it  is  hard  to  turn  our  thoughts  from  the  art 


THREE   ARCHITECTURAL    STYLES  SUBDIVIDED.      385 

to  the  building."  Thus  in  all  particulars  do  this  writer's 
general  conclusions,  though  differently  derived,  confirm 
the  methods  of  classification  that  have  been  here  sug- 
gested. 

The  subdivisions  of  these  three  radically  different 
architectural  styles  are  not  important ;  nor,  any  more 
than  in  the  case  of  music,  can  they  be  accurately  de- 
termined, especially  in  view  of  the  way  in  which  the 
whole  subject  has  been  confused  by  the  national  or  racial 
designations  which  have  been  given  to  the  styles.  In 
some  cases,  two  or  three  of  these  terms  indicate  the  same 
style ;  and,  in  other  cases,  one  term  applies  to  a  combina- 
tion of  styles.  In  a  very  general  way,  however,  it  may 
be  said  that,  of  the  styles  that  may  rightly  be  considered 
the  results  of  artistic  study  and  intelligence,  the  Byzan- 
tine, as  illustrated  in  St.  Sophia,1  Constantinople,  exem- 
plifies the  most  subjective  or  epic  development  of  the 
epic  tendency;  that  the  later  Etruscan,2  showing  us,  as 
in  the  gate  at  Perugia  and  in  the  Cloaca  Maxima  at 
Rome,  the  Roman  arch  before  the  Greek  entablature  had 
been  added  to  it,  exemplifies  the  most  scientific  or  realistic 
development  of  the  epic ;  and  that  the  Romanesque,  es- 
pecially the  Venetian  as  in  St.  Mark's,3  but  also  much  of 
the  later  Romanesque  of  Italy4  and  of  Germany  and  of 
the  Norman  of  England,  exemplifies  the  most  objective  or 
artistic  development  of  the  epic.  In  the  same  way,  it 

1  Fig.  42,  page  123,  "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form";    Fig.   40,  page  80, 
*'  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

2  Producing  a  result  approximately  like  that  in  Fig.  30,  page  86,  and  Fig. 
II,  page  47,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

3  Fig.  3i,  Page  88,  idem  ;  Fig.  15,  page  37,  "Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch, 
as  Rep.  Arts." 

4  See  Cathedral  of  Sienna,    Fig.   97,  page  292,  "The  Genesis  of  Art- 
Form  "  ;    also  Fig.  84,  page  240,  idem. 

25 


386      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

may  be  said  that  the  Greek  style,1  with  its  slight  tendency 
to  elevation  in  its  inclining  pediments,  exemplifies  the 
most  subjective  or  epic  development  of  the  realistic  ten- 
dency ;  that  the  Egyptian  style2  exemplifies  its  most 
scientific  development ;  and  that  the  Roman  style,3  in- 
cluding the  Renaissance4 —  i.  e.,  flat  caps  and  cornices  sur- 
mounted by  round  arches  —  and  also  the  Revived  Grecian, 
or,  as  it  is  better  termed,  the  Romo-Grecian,6  i.  e.,  the  en- 
tablature surmounted  by  the  dome  —  on  account  of  their 
combinations  of  forms,  if  of  nothing  else,  —  represent  the 
most  objective  or  dramatic  development  of  the  realistic ; 
while  the  Mohammedan  or  Moorish  style,  to  which  Rosen- 
garten,  in  his  "Architectural  Styles,"  ascribes  "  free  vent 
to  overwrought  fancy  and  eccentric  tone,  in  conjunction 
with  spectacular  display,"  may  be  said  to  exemplify,  as  in 
the  Taj-Mahal,6  and  especially  as  in  the  Arabesque  forms 
of  the  Alhambra,7  the  most  subjective  or  epic  develop- 
ment of  the  dramatic  ;  the  non-ecclesiastical 8  or  so-called 
Tudor  Gothic,  its  scientific  or  relative  development ;  and 

1  Temple  of  Theseus,   Fig.   14,  page  36,    "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and   Arch, 
as  Rep.  Arts"  ;    The  Acropolis,   Fig.   i,  page  15,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art- 
Form." 

2  Temple  at  Ipsambool,  Fig.  227,  page  394,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch, 
as  Rep.  Arts  "  ;  see  also  Fig.  171,  page  315,  and  Fig.  172,  page  317,  idem. 

3  Court  of  Honor,   Fig.  203,  page  365,  "Paint.,   Sculpt.,   and  Arch,   as 
Rep.  Arts." 

4  Fig.    173,   page   319 ;    Fig.    196,   page  349 ;   and  Fig.    201,  page  361, 
"  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

6 St.  Isaac's,  Fig.  12,  page  35,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts"  ; 
also  St.  Peter's,  Fig.  23,  page  78,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

6  Fig.  3,  page  19,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

1  Fig.  96,  page  290,  idem. 

8Fig.  198,  page  351,  also  Fig.  206,  page  369,  Fig.  13,  page  36,  "Paint., 
Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts";  Fig.  22,  page  78,  "  The  Genesis  of 
Art-Form. 


THREE  ARCHITECTURAL   STYLES  SUBDIVIDED.      387 

the  so-called  pointed  Gothic '  of  the  cathedral,  its  most 
objective  or  dramatic  development.  See  again  the  note 
at  the  bottom  of  page  380. 

1  Fig.  41,  page  81,  Fig.  150,  page  227,  and  Fig.  220,  page  392,  "  Paint., 
Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts"  ;  Fig.  2,  page  17,  Fig.  68,  page  207, 
Fig.  78,  page  235,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  THE  ELEMENTS  OF 

ART-FORM  IN  TIME  AND  SPACE  COMBINED  :   IMPORT, 

LIFE,  AND  ORGANISM  AS  SUGGESTED  IN  POETRY. 

Resume  of  the  Line  of  Thought  in  this  Volume — Have  still  to  Compare 
Significance  as  Represented  by  the  Underlying  Elements  of  Form  in 
Art  with  the  Same  in  Nature — Import,  Life,  and  Organism  as  Repre- 
sented in  Nature  through  Combined  Effects  of  Movement  or  Operation 
in  Time  and  of  Matter  or  Arrangement  in  Space — Objects  in  Time 
Suggesting  Space  Manifest  Progress — Objects  in  Space  Suggesting 
Time  Manifest  Unity — Poetry  and  Music  Manifest  Progress  Suggesting 
Unity — Of  the  Two,  Poetry  Suggests  More  Unity  ;  Words  Having  More 
Meaning  than  Single  Notes — Poetry  Suggests  Unity  also  through 
Verse,  Metre,  Rhyme,  Alliteration,  Assonance,  Refrains,  Choruses — 
Through  Repetition  of  Epithets  and  Phrases  in  Blank  Verse — Through 
Parallelism,  Causing  Expression  to  be  Prolonged  and  Reiterated — 
Two  Extremes  to  be  Avoided  :  One  the  Disproportionate  Emphasis  of 
Conditions  Tending  to  Progress  :  Doggerel — Corrected  by  Breadth  of 
View,  Introducing  Suggestions  of  Space — Other  Extreme  to  be  Avoided 
is  Disproportionate  Emphasis  of  Conditions  Tending  to  Unity — How 
Avoided  in  a  Shakespearian  Soliloquy — By  the  Poetic  Hiatus  or 
Ellipsis. 

A  S  we  turn  in  this  chapter  from  comparatively  generic 
to  more  specific  results  of  art-significance  as  mani- 
fested in  the  form,  the  reader  will  perceive  that  the 
course  of  thought  in  this  volume,  having  boxed  the 
compass,  as  it  were,  of  all  the  possibilities  of  expression, 
is  returning  to  its  starting-point.  Our  endeavor  to  detect 
the  methods  of  representing  significance  through  the 

388 


IMPORT,    LIFE,    AND    ORGANISM  IN  ART-FORM.     389 

forms  of  art  began  with  a  study  of  the  ways  in  which  it 
seems  to  be  represented  through  the  forms  of  nature.  In 
these  latter,  it  was  shown  that  the  elementary  suggestions 
of  space  and  of  time  are  gradually  developed  into  sug- 
gestions of  organism,  life,  and  import ;  and,  through  the 
latter,  into  conceptions  of  the  infinite,  the  eternal,  and 
the  absolute,  or,  as  one  may  say,  of  truth  in  the  abstract. 
Having  reached  this  point,  as  preliminary  to  retracing 
our  steps,  in  order  to  show  how  that  which  had  been 
discovered  to  be  suggested  through  the  forms  of  nature 
could  be  made  by  man  to  be  suggested  through  the  forms 
of  art,  it  was  found  necessary  to  consider  three  different 
departments  in  which,  for  different  purposes,  the  truth  or 
the  significance  embodied  in  form  is  differently  derived, 
characterized,  and  expressed — namely,  religion,  science, 
and  art.  After  this,  having  separated  the  conceptions  of 
art  from  those  of  the  other  two,  it  was  shown  that  even 
in  this  there  can  be  detected  three  distinct  tendencies, 
the  first  religious,  leading  through  the  good,  the  sublime, 
and  the  grand,  to  epic  art ;  the  second,  scientific,  leading 
through  the  true,  the  picturesque,  and  the  simple,  to 
realistic  art ;  and  the  third,  artistic,  leading  through  the 
beautiful,  the  brilliant,  and  the  striking,  to  dramatic  art ; 
and  the  preceding  three  chapters  have  indicated  the  in- 
fluence of  each  of  these  tendencies  upon  products  in 
the  higher  arts  of  poetry,  music,  painting,  sculpture,  and 
architecture. 

The  reader  will  recognize  that  the  work  of  showing 
how  significance  may  be  represented  in  the  same  way  in 
the  forms  of  art  as  in  those  of  nature,  cannot  be  com- 
pleted till,  in  our  applications  of  the  subject,  we  have 
retraced  all  our  steps  back  to  the  very  first  one  with 
which  we  started  ;  back,  that  is,  to  the  elementary  forms 


390      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

of  nature  in  which  significance  begins  to  be  suggested. 
In  order  to  do  this  logically  we  should  consider — reversing 
the  order  of  arrangement  in  each  triad  of  suggestions 
mentioned  on  page  6 — how  the  forms  of  art  as  well  as 
of  nature  can  represent  conceptions  of 

Import  Method  of  Operation  Force  Existence 

Life  Operation  Movement  Time 

Organism  Arrangement  Matter  Space 
\ 

To  dwell  upon  all  these  terms,  and  thus  to  repeat  what 
was  said  in  Chapter  I.,  is  not  necessary  in  this  place.  It 
will  be  sufficient  to  remind  the  reader  that  the  suggestions 
respectively  indicated  in  each  triad  of  terms  are  cumula- 
tive, and  depend  upon  those  in  each  of  the  triads  pre- 
ceding them  ;  also  that  all  the  suggestions  mentioned  first 
in  each  of  the  triads — and  the  same  is  true  respectively  of 
those  mentioned  second  and  third — are  connected.  In 
other  words,  the  suggestion  of  import  is  conveyed  through 
that  of  life,  which  itself  is  conveyed  through  that  of 
organism.  Besides  this,  import  is  mainly  represented 
through  a  method  of  operation  produced  by  force  upon 
existence  ;  life,  by  an  operation  produced  by  movement  in 
time ;  and  organism,  by  an  arrangement  produced  by 
matter  in  space.  For  our  present  purposes,  much  of  this, 
especially  that  which  is  in  the  second  and  third  columns, 
need  not  be  considered.  We  may  confine  attention  mainly 
to  that  which  is  in  the  first  and  fourth  columns,  i.  e.,  to 
the  suggestions  in  art,  corresponding  to  those  in  nature, 
of  import,  life,  and  organism  as  conveyed  through  appear- 
ances having  existence  in  time  and  in  space.  In  Chapters 
XXII.  to  XXIV.  we  shall  consider  the  representations 
of  import,  life,  and  organism  in  each  art-form,  owing  to 
its  suggestions  of  effects  in  time  and  in  space  combined ; 


IMPORT,   LIFE,    AND   ORGANISM  IN  ART-FORM.     391 

and  in  the  remainder  of  the  book  we  shall  consider  the 
suggestions  predominantly  made  either  in  time  alone  or 
in  space  alone,  which  need  to  be  considered  thus,  inasmuch 
as  the  effects  of  poetry  and  music  are  mainly  manifested 
in  the  one,  and  those  of  painting,  sculpture,  and  architect- 
ure are  mainly  manifested  in  the  other. 

To  take  up  the  first  of  the  topics  thus  indicated,  Chapter 
I.  has  shown  us  that  impressions  of  organism  and  through 
them  of  life  and  import  are  conveyed  by  objects  in  nature, 
and  therefore  presumably  by  those  in  art,  in  the  degree  in 
which  they  appear  to  be  subjected  when  separated  from 
others  in  space,  to  successive  movements  or  operations — to 
what  we  may  term  changes  in  time ;  or  in  the  degree  in 
which  successive  changes,  perceptible  in  time,  seem  to  have 
affected  objects  as  separate  portions  of  matter,  which  is 
what  we  mean  by  separate  objects  in  space.  Notice  now 
that  the  former  of  these  conditions,  when,  notwithstanding 
successive  changes  in  an  object,  it  is- still  perceived  to  be 
one  object,  or  to  be  an  organic  whole,  is  that  which  is 
mainly  instrumental  in  producing  an  effect  of  unity ;  and 
that  the  latter  condition,  when,  notwithstanding  the  object 
is  one,  or  an  organic  whole,  it  is  perceived  to  be  subject 
to  change,  is  that  which  mainly  produces  an  effect  of 
progress.  Whether  unity  or  progress  be  the  more  apparent 
depends  less  upon  the  intrinsic  nature  of  an  object  than 
upon  our  individual  way  of  viewing  it.  If  we  regard  a  tree 
at  any  single  moment  of  time,  all  that  render  it  apprehen- 
sible are  outlines  separating  it  from  other  things  in  space. 
These  cause  it  to  seem  a  unity.  The  moment,  however, 
that  we  come  to  inquire  what  has  caused  these  outlines  to 
appear  as  they  do,  we  attribute  their  appearances  to  former 
processes  of  growth  ;  in  other  words,  although  the  unity  of 
the  tree  is  what  is  chiefly  noticed,  the  very  appearance  of 


392      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

this  unity  suggests  progress.  Again,  if  we  observe  the 
changes  that  time  has  wrought  upon  the  tree,  we  at  once 
have  our  minds  directed  to  the  fact  that  the  progress  noticed 
is  effected  in  some  one  thing  which,  because  it  is  one,  pos- 
sesses unity.  Thus  we  may  accept  it  as  a  general  principle, 
that,  when  objects  in  nature  that  manifest  import  through 
life  and  organism  appear  to  be  a  unity,  they  suggest  pro- 
gress ;  and  that  when  they  appear  to  have  progress,  they 
suggest  unity.  And  our  inference  with  reference  to  the 
forms  of  art  is  that  they  must  manifest  primarily  either 
unity  suggesting  flrvgress  we  progress  suggesting  unity.  In 
this  and  the  two  chapters  following,  this  principle  is  to  be 
applied  to  the  methods  of  expressing  significance  through 
the  forms  of  the  different  arts.  The  reader  who  may  be 
interested  in  noticing  how  the  same  may  be  applied  to  the 
methods  of  constructing  each  form  as  a  form,  will  find 
this  indicated  on  pages  131,  270,  299,  and  300  of  the 
volume  of  this  series  entitled  "  The  Genesis  of  Art- 
Form." 

Before  we  pass  on,  it  is  important  to  notice  particularly 
the  words  suggest  and  suggested,  as  used  in  the  sentences 
above.  Doing  this  will  save  one  from  the  error  of  suppos- 
ing that  the  arts  of  sound  should  attempt  to  give  form  to 
subjects  that  can  be  adequately  delineated  in  only  space, 
or  that  the  arts  of  sight  should  attempt  to  give  form  to 
subjects  that  can  be  adequately  reported  in  only  time. 
Concerning  this  error,  more  will  be  said  in  Chapters  XXV. 
to  XXVII.  At  present,  let  us  confine  ourselves  to  the 
question  in  hand.  Let  us  notice  how  each  of  the  art-forms 
may  be  made  suggestive  of  import  through  being  sugges- 
tive also  of  life  and  organism.  In  doing  this,  we  shall  be- 
gin with  the  arts  of  sound, — poetry  and  music.  The  forms 
of  these  are  apprehended  through  successive  effects  that 


UNITY  AND   PROGRESS  IN  ART-FORM.  393 

appear,  moving  one  after  another,  in  time,  and  thus  man- 
ifest prim ar\\y  progress  suggesting  unity. 

Of  the  two  arts,  poetry  can,  in  a  certain  sense,  be  said 
to  be  more  naturally  suggestive  of  unity  than  music.  No 
separate  musical  note  can  be  so  complete  in  itself,  or  so 
representative  of  a  form  in  space,  as  a  separate  word. 
When  we  say  tree  or  man,  for  instance,  it  at  once  recalls 
an  object  in  space.  Even  when  we  use  words  that  do  not 
recall  such  an  object,  the  flow  of  ideas  during  the  time  in 
which  each  word  is  being  uttered  stands  still,  as  it  were, 
for  a  moment  ;  and  this  fact  of  standing  removes  it  some- 
what from  the  sphere  of  progress  in  the  sense  of  move- 
ment. Notice  too,  that,  in  part,  it  is  this  fact  also  that 
gives  a  word  as  contrasted  with  a  note  more  import. 
Music  moves  forward  like  a  wheel  when  its  spokes  are  re- 
volving, the  united  influence  of  the  tones  being  far  more 
marked  than  the  significance  of  separate  tones.  Poetry 
moves  forward  like  one  walking,  step  by  step,  the  united 
influence  of  sentences  being  scarcely  more  perceptible 
than  that  of  separate  words. 

Accordingly  when  we  come  to  inquire  how  unity,  which 
is  primarily  a  condition  of  space,  may  be  suggested  in 
connection  with  progress  which  is  mainly  represented  in 
poetry,  the  answer  is  easier  than  when  we  apply  an 
analogous  question  with  reference  to  music.  In  trying 
to  find  the  answer,  let  us  start  by  recalling  exactly  what 
it  is  that  constitutes  form  in  poetry.  "  Notwithstanding 
all  that  has  been  advanced  by  some  French  critics,"  says 
Whately  in  his  "  Rhetoric,  "  "  to  prove  that  a  work  not  in 
metre  may  be  a  poem,  universal  opinion  has  always  given 
a  contrary  decision,  and  when  that  which  is  poetical  is  put 
into  the  form  of  verse  we  have  poetry."  According  to 
this  critic,  then,  poetry  is  a  form  of  verse.  But  what  is 


394      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

verse  ?  A  little  reflection  will  reveal  that  every  known 
phase  of  it  is  a  method  of  causing  the  flow  of  the  words  as 
they  present  themselves  in  time,  to  be  interrupted  suffi- 
ciently and  with  sufficient  regularity  to  convey  an  impres- 
sion like  that  produced  when  objects  appear  side  by  side 
in  space.  Lines,  feet,  alliteration,  assonance,  rhyme, — all 
have  the  effect  of  retarding  or  preventing  an  absolute 
change ;  and  thus  of  causing  the  composition  to  manifest 
not  movement  only,  but  unity  of  movement.  Consider, 
for  instance,  the  lyric.  Its  thought  usually  moves  on  very 
impetuously.  The  artistic  requirement  in  its  mode  of  ex- 
pression, therefore,  is  that  it  manifest,  in  some  way,  that 
there  is  unity  in  the  movement.  But,  how  can  this  be 
done  better  than  by  arranging  the  sounds  in  certain  like 
groups,  indicating  unity  of  method  ?  And  how  can  we 
find  like  groups  more  clearly  indicated  than  in  the  regular 
recurrence  of  accents,  as  in  feet,  or  of  tones  as  in  alliter- 
ation or  assonance,  and  especially  as  in  rhymes  at  the  ends 
of  lines.  These  latter,  in  particular,  cause  the  thought, 
at  like  intervals,  to  pause,  as  it  were,  and  to  connect  the 
sound  heard  with  another  like  sound  that  preceded  it.  A 
similar  impression  is  also  conveyed  when  successive  stanzas 
end  with  a  like  refrain  or  chorus.  Notice  the  poems  on 
page  341.  The  refrain  and  the  chorus,  therefore,  are  not 
superfluous.  Without  them,  the  thought  of  the  lyric 
might  often  seem  to  roll  forward  as  lifelessly  and  with  as 
little  evidence  of  organism  as  a  log.  These  make  it  step 
and  fly, — give  it  a  regularly  recurring  motion  like  that  of 
a  living  creature.  As  contrasted  with  the  thought  of  the 
lyric,  that  of  the  epic  is  less  impetuous.  In  assuming 
form,  therefore,  the  latter  can  afford  to  a  greater  degree  to 
disregard  the  suggestion  of  space.  It  can  advance,  as  in 
blank  verse,  with  very  much  less  aid  than  is  afforded  by 


UNITY  AND  PROGRESS  IN  POETRY.  395 

the  regular  recurrence  of  the  accents  and  tones  just 
mentioned. 

At  the  same  time,  the  only  metrical  effect  that  is  really 
absent  from  the  ordinary  epic  is  that  of  rhyme.  All  the 
other  effects,  even  something  that  is  similar  to  the  refrain 
or  chorus  of  the  lyric,  blank  verse  includes.  In  the  "  Iliad," 
for  instance,  time  and  again  we  meet  with  the  same  phrase- 
ology. Sometimes  whole  lines  are  repeated.  Juno, 
"large  eyed  and  august,"  Agamemnon,  "king  of  men," 
"swift-footed"  Achilles,  the  "white-armed"  Helen, 
"winged  words,"  and  other  epithets  like  these,  are  reite- 
rated with  a  frequency  that  in  our  age  might  be  con- 
sidered monotonous  and  redundant.  Tennyson,  however, 
has  done  the  same  thing  with  fine  effect  in  his  "  Idyls." 
In  "  Morte  D'Arthur,"  the  king  is  made  to  say : 

Watch  what  thou  seest,  and  lightly  bring  me  word. 

Sir  Bedivere  replies : 

Yet  I  thy  hest  will  all  perform  at  full, 

Watch  what  I  see,  and  lightly  bring  thee  word. 

And  still  again,  farther  on,  the  king  says : 

I  bade  thee  watch,  and  lightly  bring  me  word. 

An  artist  like  Tennyson  would  not  have  repeated  these 
Homeric  methods,  unless  he  had  perceived  a  subtle  reason 
for  doing  so.  What  is  it?  What  but  to  convey  to  the 
ear  and  also  to  the  mind  an  impression  of  unity  as  well 
as  of  progress, — an  impression,  as  we  shall  find  presently, 
similar  to  that  conveyed  through  the  repetition  of  similar 
strains  in  a  composition  of  music? 

Another  more  intimate  analogy  between  musical  and 
poetic  forms  of  expression  is  also  worth  noticing.  It 


396      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

will  serve  to  reveal  as  well  the  very  close  connection  that 
exists  between  versification  and  poetic  thought.  In  the 
following  parallelism  we  have  one  of  the  oldest  poetic 
expressions  on  record  : 

I  have  slain  a  man  to  my  wounding 
And  a  young  man  to  my  hurt, 

Gen.  iv.,  23. 

Examination  will  show  that  these  two  lines  sustain  to  the 
single  idea  of  murder,  a  relation  exactly  the  same  as  that 
which  will  be  pointed  out  presently  between  different 
notes  of  melody  and  the  single  chord  of  harmony  from 
which  these  notes  are  developed.  The  two  lines  prolong 
and  reiterate,  and  thus  reveal  in  succession,  according  to 
the  order  of  sequence  in  experience,  what  might  be  stated 
in  a  single  phrase.  This  prolongation  or  presentation  in 
succession  is  necessary  because  the  medium  of  poetry 
must  manifest  movement  or  progress.  It  is,  moreover, 
a  prolongation,  and  a  manifest  prolongation,  of  what  might 
be  stated  in  a  single  phrase,  because  poetry  must  indicate 
also  certain  effects  of  unity.  Here  then,  in  this  simple 
parallelism  of  early  poetry  are  very  clearly  manifested 
these  two  suggestions  which  it  has  been  said  that  this 
form  of  art  must  convey. 

The  very  fact,  however,  that  it  may  convey  either  of 
them  involves  the  possibility  of  its  conveying  one  of  them 
to  an  overbalancing  extent ;  and  shows  the  necessity  of 
maintaining  in  this  art  the  mean  between  the  two  ex- 
tremes, at  the  one  of  which  the  conditions  tending  to 
progress  are  exclusively  emphasized,  and  at  the  other  the 
conditions  tending  to  unity.  As  has  just  been  indicated, 
it  is  the  ability  to  evolve  an  idea,  rather  than  to  state  itr 
which,  more  than  anything  else,  perhaps,  renders  poetic 
art-production  possible.  Notice,  too,  that  a  large  number 


UNITY  AND   PROGRESS  IN  POETRY.  397 

of  words  and  phrases  can  do  no  more  than  state  an  idea, 
while  few  words,  however  rapidly  uttered,  can  keep 
pace  with  the  processes  of  ideas.  From  this  fact  it  fol- 
lows that  there  is  much  less  liability  in  poetry  than  in 
music,  that  the  movement  be  too  rapid.  There  is,  how- 
ever, some  danger  of  it.  What  is  doggerel  ?  At  times, 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  verse  so  intently  driven 
toward  the  expression  of  one  idea  that  the  writer  of 
it  ignores  all  other  ideas.  He  looks  straight  at  his  goal 
and  at  nothing  on  either  side  of  him.  The  result  is 
a  narrow  line  of  thought,  devoid  of  any  of  those  sugges- 
tions of  associated  things  in  space,  i.  e.,  in  heaven  or  earth 
or  under  the  earth,  with  which  poetry  that  really  stimu- 
lates the  imagination  is  always  crowded.  Verse  may 
represent  movement  to  perfection  and  still  be  doggerel, 
e.  g.  : 

And  still  I  him  pursued  with  speed, 

Till  at  the  last  we  mett  ; 
Whereby  an  appointed  day  of  fight 

Was  there  agreed  and  sett : 

Where  we  did  fight,  of  mortal  life 

Eche  other  to  deprive, 
Till  of  a  hundred  thousand  men 

Scarce  one  was  left  alive. 

The  Legend  of  King  Arthur:  Percy's  Reliques. 

Before  we  parted,  one  kind  friend, 

And  then  another  talked  so  free  ; 
They  went  from  table-end  to  end, 

And  spoke  to  each,  and  spoke  to  me. 

Books,  pretty  books,  with  pictures  in, 
Were  given  to  those  who  learn  to  read, 

Which  showed  them  how  to  flee  from  sin, 
And  to  be  happy  boys  indeed. 

The  Climbing  Boy's  Soliloquies  :  Montgomery* 


398      REPRESENTA  TIVE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

On  and  on  through  many  cities, 
Through  Bologna  to  Ancona, 
Stopping  off  to  see  the  places 
Mentioned  in  the  classic  history, 
Down  the  eastern  coast  of  Italy 
By  a  route  not  much  frequented, 
Therefore  far  more  interesting, — 
Finally  they  reached  Brindisi. 

Sketches  in  Palestine  :  Hammond. 

The  primary  condition  needed  in  order  to  make  lines 
like  these  poetic,  is  that  the  mind  should,  once  in  a  while, 
glance  off  from  the  course  which  it  is  pursuing,  and  show 
how  its  thoughts  are  connected  with  thoughts  in  other 
associated  courses.  That  is  to  say,  the  words  should 
suggest  space  through  which  the  thought  is  moving,  and 
thus  give  to  the  whole  the  effect  of  outlook  or  breadth,  in 
which,  as  in  all  true  art,  imagination  has  compared  one 
thing  with  anotrler.  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  in  the  following 
the  vitality,  freshness,  warmth,  glow,  charm,  and  all  those 
qualities  that  are  associated  with  life  and  organism,  as 
well  as  those  that  are  connected  with  depth  and  breadth 
of  import,  are  owing  to  the  presence  of  the  characteristics 
that  have  just  been  said  to  be  lacking  in  the  verses  above  ? 
Notice  how  the  poet,  by  referring  to  the  "  scream  of  the 
curlew,"  "  yawning,"  "  subterranean  host,"  "  loose  crags,'* 
"infant  touch,"  "  adder,"  "wolf,"  "maiden,"  etc., 
draws  suggestions  from  every  side  of  the  channel  which 
the  main  thought  is  following,  and  makes  them  all  do 
service  in  augmenting  the  amount  of  force  which  is  dash- 
ing on  like  a  flood  in  one  general  direction  : 

*'  Have  thou  thy  wish  !  "     He  whistled  shrill, 
And  he  was  answered  from  the  hill ; 
Wild  as  the  scream,  of  the  curlew 
From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew. 


UNITY  AND   PROGRESS  IN  POETRY.  399 


That  whistle  garrisoned  the  glen 

At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men, 

As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 

A  subterranean  host  had  given. 

Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will, 

All  silent  there  they  stood  and  still. 

Like  the  loose  crags  whose  threatening  mass 

Lay  towering  o'er  the  hollow  pass, 

As  if  an  infant's  touch  could  urge 

Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge, 

With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung, 

Upon  the  mountain-side  they  hung. 

Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil, 
Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toil, 
Like  mountain-cat  who  guards  her  young, 
Full  at  Fitz-James's  throat  he  sprung, 
Received,  but  reck'd  not  of  a  wound. 
And  lock'd  his  arms  his  foeman  round. — 
Now,  gallant  Saxon,  hold  thine  own  ! 
No  maiden's  hand  is  round  thee  thrown  ! 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  v. :  Scott. 

But  as  poetry  is  an  art,  the  words  of  which  follow  one 
another  in  time,  the  poet  should  be  careful  to  have  these 
effects  in  space  merely  suggested  and  not  in  any  sense 
detailed.  There  is  a  special  liability  to  violate  this  re- 
quirement, whenever  the  main  thought  to  be  presented  is 
not  naturally  associated  with  movement,  as  when  one  is 
describing  something  actually  perceived  in  space,  as  in 
quotations  on  pages  343  and  438,  or  is  expressing  a  senti- 
ment or  belief  discoursive  or  didactic  in  nature,  rather  than 
narrative.  But  even  though  the  main  thought  be  not 
associated  with  movement,  the  subordinate  thought  may 
be.  And  if  the  poet  will  bear  this  in  mind,  he  may  direct 
attention  to  that  which  exists  in  space,  and  yet  by  refer- 
ring constantly,  while  doing  so,  to  actions  which  can  take 


4OO      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

place  in  only  time,  he  may  have  his  language  full  of  the 
representation  of  movement. 

Notice  how  this  fact  is  exemplified  in  the  use  of  the 
words  that  are  italicized  in  the  following : 

For  instantly  a  light  upon  the  turf 

Fell  \\\iQ  a.  flash,  and  lo  !  as  I  looked  up, 

The  Moon  hung  naked  in  a  firmament 

Of  azure  without  cloud,  and  at  my  feet 

Rested  a  silent  sea  of  hoary  mist. 

A  hundred  hills  their  dusky  backs  upheaved 

All  over  this  still  ocean  ;  and  beyond, 

Far,  far,  beyond  the  solid  vapors  stretched, 

In  headlands,  tongues,  and  promontory  shapes, 

Into  the  main  Atlantic,  that  appeared 

To  dwindle  and  give  up  his  majesty, 

Usurped  upon  far  as  the  sight  could  reach. 

The  Prelude ;  Conclusion  :   Wordsworth, 

Notice,  too,  how  Shakespeare  in  the  following  gives 
effects  of  life  and  organism  as  well  as  of  import  to  the 
discoursive  character  of  his  main  thought  —  which  other- 
wise would  have  merely  given  him  "  pause "  in  space. 
Notice  the  allusions  which  he  makes  to  things  that  move 
in  time  ;  and  which  have  no  interest  nor  even  existence 
except  as  actions  : 

To  be  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question  : — 

Whether  't  is  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 

The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune ; 

Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles 

And  by  opposing  end  them  ?     To  die, — to  sleep, 

No  more  ; — and  by  a  sleep  to  say  we  end 

The  heart-ache  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 

That  flesh  is  heir  to, — 't  is  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wished.     To  die, — to  sleep  ; — 

To  sleep  !  perchance  to  dream  ;  —  ay,  there 's  the  rub } 

For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come, 

When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 


UNITY  AND  PROGRESS  IN  POETRY.  40! 

Must  give  us  pause.     There 's  the  respect 

That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life  ; 

For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 

The  oppressor's  wrong,.     .     .     . 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death, — 

The  undiscovered  country  from  whose  bourn 

No  traveller  returns, —  puzzles  the  will ; 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have 

Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of  ? 

Thus  conscience  doth  make  cowards  of  us  all. 

Hamlet,  Hi.,  i  :  Shakespeare. 

There  is  a  significant  connection  between  these  effects 
and  the  use  of  the  rhetorical  hiatus  and  ellipsis  which  are 
so  general  in  poetry,  and  so  generally  regarded  as  legiti- 
mate. These  figures  of  speech  are  suggestions  to  the 
reader  that  the  thoughts  of  the  writer  are  moving  forward 
in  time,  and  that  he  must  not  try  to  elaborate  them.  He 
must  hurry  on  to  something  else.  In  the  majority  of 
cases,  too,  hiatus  follows  a  reference  to  something  that  is 
aside  from  the  main  line  of  thought,  something  that  the 
writer  conceives  of  as  existing  side  by  side  with  that 
with  which  he  is  dealing.  In  other  words,  these  figures 
of  speech  suggest  space  as  well  as  time.  This  fact  ex- 
plains why  it  is  that  they  alone  so  often  add  effects  of 
import  and  life  to  what  would  otherwise  seem  very  insig- 
nificant and  lifeless.  One  secret  of  Robert  Browning's 
power  lies  in  this  use  of  the  ellipsis.  But  he  sometimes 
carries  the  figure  too  far.  Compare  his  handling  of  it  in 
the  following  with  that  of  Shakespeare  in  the  passage 
last  quoted.  See  also  page  214. 

Alcamo's  song  enmeshes  the  lulled  isle, 

Woven  into  the  echoes  left  erewhile 

By  Nina,  one  soft  web  of  song ;  no  more 

Turning  his  name,  then,  flower-like,  o'er  and  o'er  ! 
26 


402      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

An  elder  poet  in  the  younger's  place  — 

Nina's  the  strength  —  but  Alcamo  's  the  grace  ; 

Each  neutralizes  each  then  !     Search  your  fill ; 

You  get  no  whole  and  perfect  Poet  —  still 

New  Ninas,  Alcamos,  till  time's  midnight 

Shrouds  all  —  or  better,  say,  the  shutting  light 

Of  a  forgotten  yesterday.     Dissect 

Every  ideal  workman  —  (to  reject 

In  favor  of  your  fearful  ignorance 

The  thousand  phantasms  eager  to  advance, 

And  point  you  but  to  those  within  your  reach) — 

Were  you  the  first  who  brought  (in  modern  speech) 

The  Multitude  to  be  materialized  ? 

That  loose,  eternal  unrest  —  who  devised 

An  apparition  i'  the  midst  ?     The  rout 

Was  checked,  a  breathless  ring  was  formed  about 

That  sudden  flower  :  get  round  at  any  risk 

The  gold-rough,  pointel,  silver-blazing  disk 

O'  the  lily  !     Swords  across  it  !     Reign  thy  reign 

And  serve  thy  frolic  service,  Charlemagne  ! 

Sordello,  bk,  J  :  Browning. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS  ATTRIBUTABLE   TO   THE   ELEMENTS  OF 

ART-FORM   IN   TIME   AND   SPACE   COMBINED: 

IMPORT,   LIFE,   AND    ORGANISM   AS 

SUGGESTED   IN   MUSIC 

AND  ORATORY. 

Unity,  or  the  Effect  of  Arrangement  in  Space  can  be  Suggested  in  Connec- 
tion with  Progress  in  Music — By  Melody  when  its  Progress  is  not  too 
Rapid  or  Slow  ;  and  is  Subject  to  a  constantly  Recurring  Rhythm — 
By  Harmony,  when  its  Simultaneous  Tones  are  Compounded  of  the 
Successive  Notes  Developed  in  the  Melodies — Same  Principles  Apply  to 
Developments  of  Themes  in  Long  Compositions — Extreme  of  Dispro- 
portionate Emphasizing  of  Effects  of  Progress  to  be  Avoided  :  Illustra- 
tion— Extreme  of  Disproportionate  Emphasizing  of  Effects  of  Unity  to 
be  Avoided  :  Illustration — Tendency  of  Wagner  to  Emphasize  Unity  by 
Subordinating  Melody  to  Harmony — Application  of  these  Principles  to 
Oratory  which  must  Manifest  Progress  not  too  Rapid  or  Slow,  and 
Unity  by  Regularity  in  Pauses  and  Rhythm,  and  in  Modulation — 
Gesture  as  Delivery  in  Space,  and  its  Influence  upon  Effects  of  Life, 
Organism,  and  Import — Must  not  Go  to  the  Extreme  of  too  much 
Movement  or  too  little. 

TN  order  that  musical  tones  as  they  follow  one  another 
may  seem  to  constitute  a  tune,  and  thus  may  seem  to 
be  musical  in  the  highest  sense,  it  is  evident  that  they 
must  possess  certain  characteristics  in  addition  to  the 
mere  fact  of  being  consecutive.  In  the  first  place,  the 
tones  must  move  neither  too  rapidly  nor  too  slowly.  In 
the  former  case,  the  mind  cannot  separate  the  notes ;  in 
the  latter,  it  cannot  connect  them  ;  and  hence  in  neither 
case  will  they  manifest  those  characteristics  that  make 

403 


404      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

music  intelligible,  vital,  and  organic.  All  who  have  applied 
themselves  to  the  task  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  learn 
passages  that  represent  either  of  these  two  extremes  of 
movement.  They  prevent  the  mind  from  readily  perceiv- 
ing— and,  for  this  reason  alone,  from  remembering — the 
relationships  of  the  notes.  Moreover,  those  whose  atten- 
tion has  been  directed  to  the  subject  must  have  noticed 
that,  as  a  rule,  notwithstanding  superior  facility  in  the 
execution  of  difficult  runs,  great  performers  upon  musical 
instruments  usually  execute  the  same  passage  in  slower 
time  than  inferior  performers  do  ;  and  also  that  the 
slower  rendering  of  the  passage  usually  enhances  greatly 
such  effects  as  it  may  manifest  of  import,  life,  and  organ- 
ism. The  slower  rendering  enhances  these,  because,  if  the 
movement  be  too  rapid,  it  fails  to  suggest  anything  that 
can  check  it.  While  this  is  true,  however,  it  is  also  true 
that,  if  the  movement  be  too  slow  it  suggests  something 
that  checks  it  too  much.  Anything  of  substance  sufficient 
to  check  movement  suggests  an  effect  produced  by  some- 
thing that  does  not  move.  As  the  mean  between  the  two 
extremes  is  the  one  in  which  musical  art  becomes  most 
expressive,  as  we  say,  it  evidently  becomes  this  in  the  de- 
gree in  which  it  conveys  suggestions  both  of  movement 
which  is  represented  in  time,  and  of  non-movement, 
which,  as  a  rule,  is  represented  in  space.  Notice  again, 
however,  that  it  is  not  only  the  fact  of  moving  with  just 
the  right  degree  of  deliberation  that  conveys  these  im- 
pressions, but  still  more,  perhaps,  the  fact  of  moving 
rhythmically  with  different  changes  and  interruptions  of 
movement  recurring  at  regular  intervals.  Look  at  the 
following : 


MUSICAL  MOVEMENT  AND  NON-MOVEMENT.     405 


Tres  Jolie  Waltz  :  Emile  Waldteufd. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that 
these  recurrences  in  rhythm  and  in  movements  of  pitch 
produce  unity  of  effect  in  music,  in  the  same  way  as  in 
poetry  do  alliteration,  assonance,  feet,  lines,  and  rhymes. 
See  page  394. 

But  there  is  another  more  literal  sense  in  which  the 
effects  of  music  may  be  suggestive  of  something  else  than 
movement.  In  the  chord  several  notes  are  sounded  at  one 
time.  By  consequence  they  are  not  apprehended  in  suc- 
cession. When,  therefore,  we  come  to  ask  how  music, 
though  appearing  in  time,  may  suggest  effects  not  requir- 
ing different  intervals  of  time,  we  may  get  one  clue  to  an 
answer  from  the  chord.  We  apprehend  this  to  be  what  it 
is,  because  its  notes  are  sounded  simultaneously  ;  and  we 
apprehend  the  resemblance  between  a  chord  and  a  melody 
in  the  degree  in  which  the  different  notes  which,  when 
sounded  together,  constitute  the  chord,  are  in  the  melody 
sounded  at  near  intervals.  The  melody,  in  this  case,  seems, 
more  than  anything  else,  like  the  chord  pulled  apart ; 
and  its  notes,  though  separated,  are  comprehended  as  if 
united.  In  other  words,  the  separate  notes,  though  appre- 
hended in  time,  are  comprehended,  as  it  were,  in  space. 
It  is  important  to  notice  also  that  unless  the  different 
notes  of  the  melody  or  the  notes  of  its  different  phrases 
can  be  thus  comprehended,  they  convey  no  impression 


406      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

of  their  relationships.  If  the  movement  be  too  slow  or 
too  involved  for  the  notes  constituting  the  one  chord, 
or  constituting  other  chords  naturally  associated  with  this 
chord,  to  linger  in  the  memory,  or  if  the  movement  be  so 
regardless  of  these  notes  as  not  to  sound  them  at  all,  then 
the  tune  will  have  little  import ;  it  will  not  be  intelligible, 
because  it  will  not  appear  to  be  a  tune,  or  to  have  organic 
life.  Accordingly,  it  is  not  alone  on  account  of  its  delib- 
erate movement,  but  on  account  also  of  its  relation  to  the 
chord,  i.  e.,  to  sounds  not  apprehended  in  succession,  that 
the  ordinary  hymn  or  ballad  can  be  easily  retained  in 
memory.  Here  is  the  first  phrase  of  a  hymn  all  the  notes 
of  which  are  in  a  single  chord,  which  is  printed  at  the 
right : 


-73- 


Ovio  :  L.  Mason. 

And  all  the  notes  of  the  following  are  in  two  chords,  also 
printed  at  the  right : 


Old  Melody. 

But  the  vast  majority  of  simple  melodies  are  composed  of 
the  notes  of  three  chords  and  of  no  more,  the  last  two 
chords  at  the  right  of  this  next  example  being  merely 
modifications  of  one  and  the  same  chord  : 


/  Know  that  my  Redeemer  Liveth  :  Handel. 


MUSICAL    UNITY  AND  PROGRESS.'  407 

The  chief  reason  why  it  is  less  difficult  to  remember  mel- 
odies like  these  than  the  melodic  movements  of  ordinary 
symphonies,  is  because  the  latter  contain  notes  from  a 
greater  number  and  variety  of  chords,  and  are,  therefore, 
more  irregular  and  complex. 

The  same  principle  is  applicable  to  longer  compositions. 
In  operas  like  Beethoven's  "  Fidelio  "  or  Wagner's  "  Lo- 
hengrin," on  account  mainly  of  consistency  in  the  meth- 
ods of  development,  a  somewhat  similar  though  greatly 
varied  general  effect  is  felt  to  pervade  all  the  melodies  ; 
and,  as  these  follow  one  another,  they  are  felt  to  be  sug- 
gestive of  something  connected  and  cumulative.  In  other 
words,  the  music  seems  to  have  body  and  an  end  in  view. 
The  body  conveys  the  impression  of  organic  vitality, 
and  the  end  in  view  that  of  import^  In  mere  operettas, 
like  those  of  Offenbach  or  Lecocq,  we  hear  only  separate 
snatches  of  melody  with  effects  which,  if  varied,  seem 
disconnected,  and,  if  not,  monotonous.  In  other  words, 
the  compositions  appear  to  have  little  unity  or  progress, 
— little,  that  is,  to  suggest  either  one  kind  of  movement 
or  one  aim  for  all  movements. 

These  two  kinds  of  music  will  serve  to  illustrate  the 
necessity  in  this  art,  as  well  as  in  others,  of  avoiding  the 
two  extremes,  in  the  one  of  which  the  conditions  tending 
to  progress  are  too  exclusively  emphasized,  and  in  the 
other  the  conditions  tending  to  unity.  Several  years  ago 
— it  may  not  be  true  now — when  music  of  the  kind  last 
mentioned  was  played  by  the  bands  in  Paris,  one  would 
hear  the  lighter  passages  performed  by  a  chosen  few, 
while,  \vhen  it  came  to  the  heavier  passages,  all  the  musi- 
cians, with  a  great  flourish  of  trumpets  and  beating  of 
drums,  would  play  together.  For  such  compositions,  this 
method  of  rendition  was  apparently  appropriate.  It 


408      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

certainly  represented  very  strikingly  their  lackof  continuity 
and  of  climax.  But  the  general  method  of  such  perform- 
ances, at  that  time,  had  had  such  an  influence  in  France, 
that  it  had  come  to  be  applied  to  the  execution  of  music 
of  a  higher  order,  and,  as  in  the  case  of  other  executions, 
was  usually  successful  in  taking  all  the  life  out  of  it. 
This  was  so,  as  will  be  noticed,  because  everything  was 
subordinated  to  the  requirements  of  the  melody  as  dis- 
tinguished from  the  harmony,  or,  as  this  use  of  terms  has 
been  explained,  to  the  requirements  of  the  effects  of 
movement,  as  distinguished  from  those  of  non-movement. 
On  the  contrary,  when  at  that  time  the  Austrian  bands 
would  render  even  light  music,  as  if  influenced  by  a  remi- 
niscence of  the  requirements  of  more  serious  music,  the 
quality  and  quantity  of  their  tones,  though  greatly  les- 
sened in  force,  were  seldom  sacrificed,  and  were  not 
always  even  subordinated  to  the  requirements  of  the 
different  melodies.  The  result  was  a  sustained  unity  of 
effect  wholly  different  from  what  was  possible  according 
to  the  French  method.  Of  course  the  Germans  some- 
times carry  this  other  effect  too  far.  When  an  opera  like 
Gounod's  "  Faust "  is  produced  in  one  of  their  opera- 
houses,  the  passages  in  recitative  are  usually  rendered  far 
more  dramatically  and  powerfully  than  by  the  French  or 
the  Italians,  but  not  so  with  passages  like  the  flower-song 
or  the  soldiers'  chorus.  In  these,  the  German  tendency  to 
subordinate  the  melody  to  that  which  is  not  the  melody, 
seems  at  times  to  make  them  overlook  certain  require- 
ments of  rhythm  and  tune  essential  to  the  effects  intended 
by  the  composer.  While,  therefore,  it  is  true  that,  in 
some  respects,  an  opera  may  be  improved  by  being  ren- 
dered according  to  the  method  of  Wagner,  it  is  also  true 
that  in  some  respects  it  may  be  impaired.  No  one  can 


MUSICAL    UNITY  AND  PROGRESS.  409 

deny  that  Wagner  was  a  great  composer  of  melodies.  He 
throws  away  more  of  these  in  the  orchestration  of  the 
second  act  of  the  "  Meistersinger  "  alone  than  would  suf- 
fice to  immortalize  almost  any  other  composer.  In  fact, 
one  peculiarity  of  his  harmonic  movements  is  the  degree 
in  which  they  are  developed  exactly  as  were  the  very 
earliest  harmonies,  i.  e.,  from  a  simultaneous  production, 
in  many  different  parts,  of  many  different  melodies.  But 
he  does  not  always  seem  to  bear  in  mind  that  harmony 
was  developed  from  melody  which  was  also,  at  first,  sung. 
He  too  frequently  seems  to  confine  the  singer's  part  to 
mere  intonation,  or  recitative.  The  followers  of  Wagner 
would  say  that,  in  such  cases,  he  is  subordinating  the 
melody  to  emotive  expression,  because  the  singer's  part 
is  always  accompanied  by  orchestration  representing, 
by  way  of  analogy,  association,  or  imitation,  the  feelings 
natural  to  the  sentiment.  But  notice  that,  as  a  rule,  an 
accompaniment  is  an  arrangement  not  of  melody  but  of 
harmony.  It  is  in  reality  to  this  latter,  therefore,  that 
Wagner  is  subordinating  what  other  composers  would  put 
into  the  form  of  melody.  In  doing  this  he  and  his  follow- 
ers evidently  represent  the  other  tendency  in  music,  which 
it  has  been  said  must  be  avoided,  namely,  that  of  empha- 
sizing too  exclusively  the  requirement  of  unity,  which  is 
what  harmony  in  music  mainly  represents.  The  result  is 
just  what,  according  to  the  theories  of  this  volume,  we 
should  expect.  However  little  may  be  confessed  in  these 
days  when  Wagner  is  the  fashion,  the  majority  of  people 
get  very  tired  of  listening  to  certain  parts  of  his  operas. 
These  parts  they  find  lifeless  and  meaningless,  dull  and 
uninspiring.  A  little  examination,  too,  will  convince  most 
of  us  that  they  are  all  parts  in  which  the  tendency  just 
mentioned  has  been  carried  to  excess.  On  the  contrary, 


410      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

the  parts  most  universally  popular,  like  the  choral  of 
41  Tannhauser,"  the  wedding  march  of  "  Lohengrin,"  the 
sword  song  of  "  Siegfried  "  and  the  prize  song  of  the 
*'  Meistersinger,"  all  show  the  influence  of  the  counter- 
balancing tendency.  Absolutely  successful  music,  as  in 
the  case  of  all  other  absolutely  successful  art,  is  that  which 
occupies  a  middle  ground  between  the  two  extremes. 

To  show  how  analogous  are  the  methods  applicable 
whenever  there  is  any  necessity  for  artistic  effects,  it  will 
be  interesting,  before  passing  from  the  arts  that  address  us 
through  the  ear,  to  notice  how  the  principles  under  con- 
sideration apply  to  the  partially  aesthetic  art  of  oratory. 
So  far  as  this  art  is  dependent  upon  vocal  effects,  the 
sounds  of  successive  words,  like  those  in  music  and  poetry, 
must  be  uttered  rhythmically — flowing  onward  without  too 
much  either  of  rapidity  or  of  hesitation,  of  abruptness  or 
of  monotony.  If  the  thought  flow  too  rapidly,  it  fails  to 
reveal  sufficiently  the  separate  import  of  the  words  ;  if 
too  slowly,  it  fails  to  reveal  their  consecutive  or  cumula- 
tive import.  All  successful  orators,  upon  analysis  of  their 
styles,  will  be  found  to  manifest  a  mean  between  these  two 
extremes.  Sometimes  an  exact  measurement  of  time  is 
evident  between  the  utterance  of  successive  emphatic  and 
unemphatic  words,  producing,  in  this  way,  a  rhythmic 
effect.  Of  course,  as  the  subject  changes  from  grave  to 
gay,  the  general  time  becomes  more  rapid,  but  the  relative 
time,  as  indicated  by  the  proportion  of  it  given  to  empha- 
tic as  contrasted  with  unemphatic  words,  often  remains  the 
same.  This  feature  was  especially  noticeable  in  the  elocu- 
tion of  Edward  Everett.  It  was  so  very  apparent,  in 
fact,  that  during  the  first  five  minutes  of  his  speaking  the 
effect  seemed  artificial.  But  before  long,  as  sentence  after 
sentence  rolled  upon  the  ear,  each  laden  successively  with 


ELOCUTIONAL  Y  MO  VEMENT  AND  NON-MO  CEMENT.  41 1 

those  accumulating  suggestions  with  which  he  knew  so 
well  how  to  build  up  a  climax,  the  effect  was  something 
more  than  animating.  It  was  electrifying  and  transporting. 
His  words,  owing  largely  to  their  rhythmic  regularity,  were 
literally  winged.  And  yet  he  spoke  always  with  delibera- 
tion. But  the  evenness  of  the  flow  of  the  whole  conveyed 
the  impression  that  the  fountain  was  living,  never  ex- 
hausted nor  to  be  exhausted,  and,  like  the  current  of  a 
mighty  river,  it  bore  irresistibly  upon  its  tide,  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  his  hearers.  Probably  no  orator  of 
the  present,  in  this  regard,  resembles  Mr.  Everett ;  but 
frequently  one  listens  to  stump-speakers  or  to  clergymen 
who,  with  unmusical  voices,  ungainly  gestures,  and  crudely 
conceived  themes,  hold  the  attention  of  their  audiences 
simply  through  manifesting  this  single  virtue  of  a  rhythmic 
flow  of  syllables.  And  where  an  orator  does  not  ac- 
complish this  result  habitually,  it  will  be  noticed,  never- 
theless, that  in  most  of  his  climaxes  that  are  particularly 
effective  his  elocution  assumes  the  trait.  Sometimes  it  is 
particularly  emphasized  by  an  unusually  regular  introduc- 
tion of  phrases,  similar  pauses  being  always  observed  be- 
tween these.  This  was  very  apparent  in  the  oratory  of 
Wendell  Phillips  and  of  George  W.  Curtis ;  and  largely 
accounts  for  the  aesthetic  and  finished  effects  of  their 
delivery.  Other  orators,  again,  as  was  the  case  with 
Henry  W.  Beecher  and  John  B.  Gough,  appear  to  have 
very  little  regard  for  exact  measurements  of  time.  But 
notwithstanding  the  broken,  disconnected  impression  that 
many  isolated  portions  of  their  delivery  convey,  examina- 
tion will  discover  even  with  them  a  similar  method  of 
making  pauses  and  a  similar  method  of  intonation  in  con- 
necting these,  which  in  the  end  convey  the  same  general 
effect  of  unity. 


412      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

The  word  intonation  introduces  us  to  another  feature  of 
successful  elocutionary  delivery,  modulation.  With  its 
various  forms  of  pitch  and  slide,  this  may  be  said  to  pro- 
duce effects  which,  as  contrasted  with  those  just  considered, 
are  a  result  of  a  vertical  movement  up  and  down  rather 
than  of  one  that  is  horizontal  or  forward.  These  elocu- 
tionary effects,  therefore,  of  modulation  or  of  inflection,  as 
often  called,  seem  to  bear  the  same  relation  to  the  forward 
movement  as  the  chord  to  the  melody — in  other  words,  to 
be  the  suggestion  in  elocution  of  an  influence  other  than 
that  produced  by  an  effect  in  time.  When  all  the  words 
of  an  oration  appear  to  move  upon  the  same  key,  or  when, 
in  spite  of  many  variations  of  this  key,  successive  words, 
phrases,  or  sentences  all  seem  to  be  emphasized  or  to  end  on 
the  same  key,  the  result  is  a  lifeless  monotony.  Opposite 
conditions  lead  to  an  opposite  result.  In  the  mean  between 
the  two,  we  find  that  excellence  which  develops  neither  into 
a  ministerial  tone  nor  into  bombastic  ranting,  nor,  as  some- 
times is  the  case,  into  both.  Did  any  of  the  orators  that 
have  been  mentioned  lack  ability  to  modulate  their  voices 
properly,  with  all  their  excellence  as  regards  time  they 
would  not  have  deserved  the  name  applied  to  them.  A 
very  artistic  illustration  of  modulation  in  delivery  was 
afforded,  a  few  years  ago  in  this  country,  by  the  elocution, 
when  he  was  in  his  prime,  of  Dr.  E.  H.  Chapin  of  New 
York.  His  voice  swelled  and  sank  literally  like  waves, 
billow  after  billow  breaking  into  a  spray  of  rhetoric  about 
the  listener  with  all  the  effect  of  an  intellectual  and 
emotional  surf-bath.  But  the  orator  who,  with  the  least 
appearance  of  effort,  could  produce  the  most  satisfactory 
effects  both  of  time  and  of  modulation  was  Wendell 
Phillips.  He  could  measure  off  his  rhythm  without  any 
suggestion  of  monotony  in  recurrence ;  and  could  pass 


ELOCUTIONARY   UNITY  AND  PROGRESS.  413 

over  all  the  notes  of  two  octaves  so  subtly  that  half  of 
his  audience  would  be  willing  to  take  oath  that  he  had 
not  varied  his  intonations  by  more  than  two  or  three 
intervals.  If  a  natural  effect  be  the  perfection  of  art,  then 
he  was  the  most  artistic  elocutionist  of  his  day. 

Similar  facts  may  be  affirmed  of  gesture.  Gestures 
actually  appear  in  space.  And,  as  we  should  expect,  a 
due  regard  for  them  may  at  times  counterbalance  defects 
in  vocalization.  There  is  delivery  in  which  neither  voice 
nor  action  in  itself  would  seem  satisfactory,  yet  both 
when  combined  do  seem  so.  This  is  the  case  because  the 
mind,  regarding  the  result,  perceives  the  effects  of  time  in 
the  language,  and  of  space  in  the  gestures,  and,  as  we 
have  found,  the  two,  when  manifested  together,  are  able, 
as  would  not  be  possible  for  either  by  itself,  to  convey 
impressions  of  organic  life  as  well  as  of  import.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  the  Italian  Father  Gavazzi,  who,  some 
years  ago,  attracted  such  crowds  in  this  country,  would 
have  been  able,  with  his  imperfect  knowledge  of  English, 
to  hold  the  attention  of  his  American  audiences  in  any 
unusual  degree,  had  it  not  been  for  the  marvellously  ex- 
pressive nature  of  his  gestures.  In  the  histrionic  art,  with 
the  violent  extremes  of  passion  that  are  expressed  in  the 
language  of  many  plays,  few  characters  could  ever  be 
made  to  seem  consistent  throughout,  were  it  not  for  the 
acting.  It  is  this  that  adds,  to  what  otherwise  might  seem 
an  endless  variety  of  language,  the  effect  of  unity.  Hence, 
as  distinguished  from  the  orator,  whose  thoughts  are 
usually  so  closely  connected,  whose  subjects  are  so  much  of 
a  unity,  that  he  needs  little  action,  the  histrionic  artist  is 
properly  called  an  actor.  When  we  have  the  excellences 
of  the  orator  and  the  actor  combined,  we  have  a  product 
that  is  rare,  but — as  proved  in  the  cases  of  Gough  and 


4 1 4      REP  RE  SEN  TA  TI VE   SIGN  I  PICA  NCE   OF  FORM. 

Beecher — one  to  which  all  men  concede  extremely  high 
intellectual  rank. 

As  for  gesture  considered  by  itself,  after  so  much  has 
been  said  to  the  same  effect,  it  is  almost  superfluous  to 
add  that  it  too  must  manifest  a  mean  between  influences 
suggestive  of  progress  and  of  unity,  i.  e.,  between  too 
much  movement  and  too  little.  If  there  be  too  much, 
the  orator  lacks  unity,  in  the  sense  of  a  manifestation  in 
all  parts  of  his  discourse  of  individual  force  of  character ; 
if  there  be  too  little,  he  lacks  progress,  in  the  sense  of 
abandon  directed  toward  an  impersonal  end. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

SIGNIFICANCE  AS   ATTRIBUTABLE   TO   THE  ELEMENTS  OF 

ART-FORM   IN  TIME  AND  SPACE  COMBINED  :    IMPORT, 

LIFE,   AND    ORGANISM  AS   SUGGESTED   IN   LAND- 

SCAPE-GARDENING,   PAINTING,    SCULPTURE, 

AND   ARCHITECTURE. 

Landscape  Gardening  —  How  it  may  Suggest  both  Progress  and  Unity  —  One 
Extreme  to  be  Avoided  —  Also  the  Other  —  Painting  :  The  Scene  and 
its  Precedences  and  Consequences  —  Painting  must  Represent  a  Single 
View  —  How  Progress,  as  in  the  Allegoric  Painting,  may  be  Appro- 
priately Treated  —  Immobility  in  Space  must  not  be  too  Exclusively 
Represented  —  The  most  Suggestive  Moment  must  be  Represented  : 
Illustrated  from  Titian's  Methods  —  Same  Principles  Applied  to  Land- 
scapes —  Sculpture  :  Suggestions  of  Progress  in  this  more  Difficult  than 
in  Painting,  yet  not  Impossible  —  Two  Extremes  to  be  Avoided  — 
The  Foremost  Statues,  even  of  Single  Figures,  are  Full  of  Organic  Life 
and  Import  —  A  Building  may  Suggest  Progress  or  Growth  —  The  Idea 
or  Plan  of  it  Is  the  Seed  —  The  Suggestion  of  Effects  in  Time  or  Growth 
must  not  be  too  Prominent  —  Nor  must  the  Suggestion  of  Effects  of 
Fixedness  or  Space  —  Neglect  of  these  Principles  in  Irregularity  of  Out- 
line and  Color  on  American  Streets  —  Of  Buildings  amid  Scenery  which 
are  Apparently  out  of  Place  —  Effects  of  Appearances  of  Nature  on  the 
Growth  of  Styles  of  Architecture. 


on  now  to  the  arts  that  appear  in  space,  and 
recalling  that  in  these  we  must  have,  instead  of 
progress  suggesting  unity,  unity  suggesting  progress,  it 
will  be  of  interest,  especially  in  view  of  the  bearings  of 
the  subject  upon  landscape-painting,  to  consider,  for  a 
little,  the  conditions  that  confront  us  in  the  allied,  but 
not  wholly  fine,  art  of  landscape-gardening.  That  this 

415 


4l6      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

art  manifests  effects  in  space,  and  thus  tends  to  unity,  is 
self-evident.  It  will  seem  almost  equally  evident  to 
those  who  have  followed  our  line  of  thought,  that  it  may 
also  suggest  effects  in  time,  or  progress. 

In  external  nature,  effects  in  time  are  evinced  in  what 
we  term  growth,  as  manifested  in  the  conformations  of 
the  surface  of  the  land,  or  in  the  distributions  or  develop- 
ments of  shrubs  or  trees  that  spring  from  it.  Applying 
these  ideas  to  landscape-gardening,  it  is  simply  a  fact 
recognized  by  all,  that  any  given  plot  may  be  so  graded 
and  laid  out  that  hills  and  valleys,  lawns  and  lakes,  avenues 
and  flower-beds,  shall  appear  to  be  the  results  of  nature 
as  much  as  of  artifice.  In  the  degree  in  which  such  is 
the  case,  landscape-gardens  may  be  said  to  suggest  effects 
in  time.  And  yet  if,  in  connection  with  these,  there  be 
no  evidences  that  the  results  perceived  were  contrived  and 
constructed  through  an  exercise  of  ingenuity  and  skill ;  if, 
in  other  words,  there  be  no  evidences  of  a  human  mind 
which,  accepting  certain  natural  features  of  landscape  as 
developed  in  time,  has  given  unity  to  the  whole  in  space, 
and  this  as  a  result  of  thinking, — then  manifestly  the 
landscape  will  not  appear  artistic. 

Accordingly  here  again,  in  these  two  facts,  we  have  in- 
dicated the  necessity  of  avoiding  the  same  two  tendencies 
—  the  one  in  the  direction  of  effects  in  time,  and  the  other 
in  space — that  were  considered  in  poetry,  music,  and  ora- 
tory. The  artist,  while  suggesting  effects  in  time,  must  not 
make  them  too  prominent.  Where  human  intellect  is  sup- 
posed to  have  graded  the  hillocks  and  cultivated  the  lawns, 
neither  of  these  can  appropriately  present  too  great  an 
appearance  of  ruggedness  or  unculture.  Lakes  that  are 
acknowledged  to  be  the  results  of  contrivance  should  not 
seem  swamps,  nor  should  streams  that  are  made  to  flow 


LA  CK  OF  TIME-EFFECTS  IN  LANDSCAPE-GARDENING.  417 

into  them  seem  sluggish.  Trees  that  have  been  trans- 
planted should  not  appear  illy  selected  as  to  sizes,  nor 
illy  arranged  as  to  groups  or  rows.  Walks  that  every  one 
knows  to  have  been  planned,  however  adroitly  they  may 
be  adjusted  to  the  conformations  of  the  land,  should 
never  violate  the  mathematical  laws  controlling  the  for- 
mation of  curves ;  nor  should  flowers  that  have  been 
placed  in  beds  be  disposed  otherwise  as  to  sizes  and 
colors  than  in  a  manner  suited  to  produce  effects  that  are 
aesthetic. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  artist,  while  striving  to  avoid  the 
tendency  just  mentioned,  can  scarcely  be  too  cautious  in 
his  endeavor  to  guard  against  infidelity  to  such  effects 
as  may  be  supposed  to  have  developed  naturally.  It  is 
possible  to  grade  the  land  so  that  the  outlines  and  po- 
sitions of  mounds,  lawns,  and  lakes  shall  seem  too  much 
the  products  of  design.  The  trees  may  be  too  nearly  of 
a  size,  and  arranged  with  too  much  regularity.  If  in  ad- 
dition, as  in  some  French  gardens,  they  be  clipped  in  order 
to  seem  uniform,  or  be  made  to  imitate  tents,  spires,  or 
what-not  that  a  man  may  fancy,  or  if  they  be  ranged  like 
fence-poles  about  walks  suggesting  nothing  but  a  square 
and  compasses,  or  stuck  into  the  edges  of  flower-beds, 
wherein  all  the  colors  are  as  carefully  matched  as  in  the 
mats  of  a  French  parlor,  then,  while  artifice  has  had  its 
perfect  work,  nature  may  seem  to  have  been  so  painfully 
distorted  and  misrepresented  that  the  result  has  been  the 
death  of  her. 

Let  us  look  now  at  painting.  Here  again  we  have  an 
art  that  appears  in  space.  As  such,  the  medium  for  the 
embodiment  of  its  theme  is  a  fixture.  It  cannot  move. 
Therefore,  of  course,  painting  cannot  delineate  succession. 

But  all  ideas  or  events  depend   for  their   interest   very 

27 


41 8      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

largely  upon  that  which  has  preceded  them  or  which  may 
follow  them.  Accordingly,  the  question  to  solve  in  this 
art  is,  How  can  preceding  or  following  conditions  be  indi- 
cated with  a  due  regard  to  representation  legitimate  to 
space  alone  ?  Evidently  only  so  far  as  they  can  be  sug- 
gested. And  so  far  as  thus  indicated,  the  tendencies  to 
be  avoided  must  be  the  same  as  in  the  other  arts  already 
considered,  namely,  that  of  making  the  suggestion  of  suc- 
cession, or  of  progress,  too  prominent ;  and  that  of  making 
too  prominent  the  representation  of  fixedness,  or  of 
unity. 

Let  us  glance  at  these  tendencies  in  their  order.  A 
work  of  art,  which  represents  a  scene  in  nature,  must  ap- 
pear, of  course,  like  such  a  scene,  and  therefore  it  must 
not  include  anything  which  could  not  be  perceived,  or 
legitimately  supposed  to  be  perceived,  in  a  single  view. 
As  already  suggested  on  page  354,  it  is  a  question  whether 
we  do  not  find  a  violation  of  this  principle  in  the  so-called 
allegoric  painting.  An  allegory,  it  is  said,  is  a  continuous 
metaphor ;  and,  as  anything  continuous  must  takes  place 
in  time,  an  allegory  must  represent  different  intervals  of 
time.  But  does  this  follow  ?  Why  need  time  be  any 
more  than  suggested?  And  why  can  it  not  be  suggested 
in  ways  that  do  not  interfere  with  that  effect  of  unity 
which  is  dependent  upon  fixedness  in  space?  When  we 
try  to  answer  these  questions,  we  find  ourselves  forced 
to  decide  that,  whether  or  not  a  painting  be  artistic, 
depends  not  upon  the  fact  of  its  being  allegoric  or  the 
contrary,  but  upon  the  mode  in  which  the  allegory  is 
presented.  In  Cole's  well-known  series  of  paintings 
called  "  The  Voyage  of  Life,"  the  allegory  is  embodied 
in  four  distinct  pictures,  each  of  which  presents  but  a 
single  scene,  the  only  connection  between  the  one  and 


UNITY  AND  PROGRESS  IN  PAINTING.  419 

the  others  being  supplied  by  the  imagination.  Dela- 
roche's  allegorical  painting  in  the  Hall  for  the  Distribution 
of  Prizes  in  the  School  of  the  Fine  Arts  in  Paris  reveals 
the  figure  of  Fame  distributing  wreaths  of  laurel  to 
artists  grouped  about  her  as  a  centre.  This  arrangement 
causes  an  effect  of  unity.  But  the  artists  are  those  of  all 
time.  This  fact  suggests,  though  it  does  not  delineate, 
progress ;  while  the  combination  of  the  effects  of  unity 
and  progress  is  such  as  to  produce — what  has  been  said 
here  to  be  a  legitimate  result  in  such  cases — an  effect  that 
is  interpretive  of  import  because  manifesting  life  and 
organism.  To  an  extent,  a  similar  effect  may  be  said  to 
characterize  Kaulbach's  "  Reformation "  and  Raphael's 
"  School  of  Athens,"  '  mentioned  on  page  354.  Of  course 
all  these  paintings  represent  that  which  never  met  the  eye 
of  a  living  man  at  any  one  moment.  But  their  appearance 
in  a  single  picture  may  be  defended  upon  the  ground  that, 
when  the  mind  recalls  "  The  Reformation  "  or  "  Athens," 
it  thinks  of  the  different  characters  not  as  existing  in  dif- 
ferent places  and  periods,  but  in  that  one  conception  of 
its  own  imagination.  Why,  therefore,  should  not  the  rep- 
resentation of  the  imagination  reveal  them  all  as  present 
together?  Nevertheless  one  would  be  untrue  to  all  the 
facts  of  the  case,  did  he  not  acknowledge  a  liability  to 
confusion  in  such  paintings.  For  instance,  Kaulbach's 
composition  in  the  Berlin  Museum,  termed  "  The  Destruc- 
tion of  Jerusalem  by  Titus,"  introduces  both  men  and 
angels,  both  the  material  and  the  heavenly  Jerusalem. 
This  confusion  may  be  so  great,  too,  as  to  prevent  the 
picture  from  suggesting  unity,  or  organic  life,  or  from 
being,  in  any  full  sense,  interpretive  of  its  own  import. 
On  this  subject,  the  reader  may  consult  Chapters  XIV. 

1  Fig.  156,  page  249,  "  Paint.  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


420      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

and  XV.  of  "  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as 
Representative  Arts,"  and  may  notice,  also,  what  is  said 
further  of  this  same  painting,  as  well  as  of  others,  on 
pages  476  to  478  of  the  present  volume. 

But  again  we  have  to  note  in  painting  the  tendency  to 
make  fixedness,  or  effects  in  space,  too  prominent,  and, 
doing  so,  to  disregard  the  suggestions  of  movement  or  of 
effects  in  time.  This  tendency  is  the  cause  of  the  dead  or 
lifeless  impression  left  by  many  family  portraits  and 
groups,  and  by  most  pictures  representing  prominent  men 
assembled  in  council,  a  president  with  his  family  or  cabi- 
net, a  senator  in  the  chamber  of  state,  or  reformers  in 
convention.  In  these,  there  are  presented  likenesses  and 
perhaps  accurate  ones,  but  the  arrangements  of  the  figures 
often  contain  no  suggestions  of  the  influence  of  preceding 
intentions  or  of  following  incidents.  In  single  figures,  it 
is  frequently  difficult  to  secure  these  suggestions  without 
a  sacrifice  of  naturalness.  But  it  can  be  done.  Fig.  169 
on  page  299  of  "  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as 
Representative  Arts  "  contains  the  "  Leaving  for  Work  " 
by  J.  F.  Millet.  In  this  picture  one  of  the  legs  of  a 
peasant  who  is  walking  is  made  longer  than  the  other  for 
the  purpose  of  suggesting  two  different  positions  which 
the  eye  is  obliged  to  take  in  at  one  glance.  In  other 
words,  the  picture  represents  the  effect  of  movement. 
On  pages  298  to  302  of  the  same  book  other  representa- 
tions of  the  same  effect  are  described.  Where  figures  are 
grouped,  the  possibilities  of  indicating  an  interchange  be- 
tween them  of  thought,  emotion,  or  action  are,  of  course, 
much  greater.  Yet  they  are  too  often  entirely  neglected. 
The  result  is  that,  however  accurately  the  figures  may 
reproduce  the  outlines  of  their  models,  all  stare  out  from 
the  canvas,  looking  as  inanimate  as  do  Punch  and  Judy 


THE   MOST  SUGGESTIVE   MOMENT  IN  PAINTING.   421 

after  the  play  is  over,  and  the  figures  are  waiting  to  be 
packed  for  removal. 

This  introduces  an  important  question.  Inasmuch  as  a 
painting  can  delineate  that  alone  which  takes  place  in 
space,  and  yet  must  suggest  that  which  has  taken  place, 
or  is  to  take  place,  in  time,  what  moment  of  time  in  a 
series  of  transactions  should  be  chosen  as  the  most  sug- 
gestive ?  Evidently  the  moment  in  which  are  concentrated 
the  effects  of  the  most  causes  that  have  preceded  it,  and 
also  the  germs  of  the  most  effects  that  shall  follow  it. 
This  is  what  is  meant  by  Lessing  when,  in  his  celebrated 
criticism  on  the  Laocoon,1  he  speaks  of  the  most  fruitful 
moment,  which,  for  the  subject  treated  in  that  statue, 
seems  to  him  to  be  the  moment  just  before  the  cry  of  pain 
on  the  part  of  the  father.  This  principle  in  itself  is 
important,  and  wherever  it  is  applied  by  an  artist  of 
good  sense  the  result  will  be  found  to  be,  in  the  high- 
est degree,  satisfactory.  Kugler  in  his  "  Handbuch  der 
Kunstgeschichte,"  v.,  8,  says  of  Titian  :  "  He  was  not 
content  with  giving  his  subjects  all  that  was  grand  and 
characteristic.  .  .  .  He  seems  to  have  taken  them  at 
the  happiest  moment,  and  thus  has  left  us  the  true  con- 
ception of  the  old  Venetian,  by  the  side  of  whom  all 
modern  gentlemen  look  poor  and  small."  The  happiest 
moment,  of  course,  is  the  one  fitted  to  suggest  most  viv- 
idly that  which  has  preceded  and  is  to  follow.  "  An 
'  Equipment  of  Cupid,'  "  says  Kugler,  "  is  in  the  Borghese 
palace  ;  Venus  is  binding  his  eyes,  whilst  another  amorino 
leans  whispering  over  her  shoulder,  and  two  Graces  bring 
the  bow  and  quiver.  '  The  Three  Ages '  repre- 

sents a  young  shepherd  and  a  fair  girl  seated  together  on 
the  grass,    his   hand  resting  on  her    shoulder,  while  she 
1  Fig.  21,  page  49,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  ^s  Rep.  Arts." 


422      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

looks  at  him  with  an  expression  of  innocence  and  sweet- 
ness; on  one  side  are  three  winged  children,  two  of  them 
sleeping,  the  other  just  awakened  ;  in  the  distance  an  old 
man  surrounded  with  the  bones  of  the  dead."  Thus 
carefully  did  this  great  painter  (see  also  what  is  said  of 
his  portraits  on  page  362)  cause  his  compositions  to  fulfil 
the  requirements  of  which  we  have  been  speaking  ;  and 
the  fact  ought  to  throw  discredit  upon  the  theories  of 
some  of  those  who,  in  imitation  of  certain  modern  artists, 
suppose  that  the  mere  ability  to  cover  a  certain  amount 
of  space  with  harmoniously  blended  lines  and  colors, 
can  compensate  for  deficiency  in  suggesting  events  that 
have  to  do  with  time.  If  Titian  with  all  his  mastery  of 
color  could  not  disregard  the  claims  of  the  latter  without 
becoming  less  of  an  artist  than  he  was,  what  shall  be  said 
by-and-by  of  some  of  these  ?  This  whole  subject  will 
be  found  treated  at  length  and  illustrated  in  Chapters 
XII.  to  XV.  of  "  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as 
Representative  Arts." 

Landscape- painting  is  so  distinctively  the  reproduc- 
tion of  appearances  in  space,  that  it  manifests  but  little 
tendency  to  make  suggestions  of  effects  in  time  too  promi- 
nent. There  is,  however,  great  liability  in  an  opposite 
direction.  And  the  distinction  between  what  is  termed  a 
poetic  painting  and  one  that  is  not  such  is  found  largely 
in  the  degree  in  which  the  former  avoids  this  tendency. 
The  landscape-artist,  more  than  any  other,  needs  to  bear 
in  mind  that  a  painting  must  contain  something  beyond  a 
mere  reflection  of  scenery,  such  as  might  be  imaged  in  a 
Claude-Lorraine-glass.  But,  at  the  same  time,  in  his  desire 
to  produce  effects  of  unity,  a  landscape-painter  must  not 
go  so  far  as  to  destroy  effects  of  life.  He  may  not  only 
produce  the  former  effects,  as  Claude  frequently  did,  by 


SUGGESTIONS   OF  SCULPTURE.  423 

placing  the  sun  in  the  centre,  with  the  light  radiating  from 
it  like  spokes  from  the  axle  of  a  wheel.  He  may  also  give 
the  whole  vitality  and  import  through  such  play  of  cause 
and  effect  as  has  already  been  pointed  out  in  the  arrange- 
ments described  on  pages  356  and  366.  If,  for  instance, 
the  wind  be  represented  as  blowing,  his  picture  may  show, 
at  least,  a  few  leaves,  not  to  say  a  tree  that  has  fallen  ;  if 
the  rain  be  descending,  it  may  show  some  man  or  brute 
that  has  dodged  under  shelter.  It  is  somewhat  strange, 
by  the  way,  inasmuch  as  the  figures  of  human  beings  are, 
of  all  forms  that  can  be  put  on  canvas,  the  most  capable 
of  suggesting  a  mode  of  movement  or  the  influence  of 
thought,  that  landscape-artists  do  not  use  them  more  fre- 
quently for  this  purpose.  Even  though  in  themselves 
poorly  executed,  they  can  sometimes  impart  effects  of  life 
and  import  which  without  them  would  be  wholly  wanting. 
Turning  now  to  sculpture,  a  moment's  reflection  will 
reveal  that  to  suggest  successive  events  which  are  to  give 
effects  of  import  and  of  organic  life  is  still  more  difficult  in 
it  than  in  painting.  In  sculpture  there  are  no  colors,  and, 
as  a  rule,  few  objects  surrounding  that  which  is  of  main  in- 
terest ;  hence  there  is  less  opportunity  than  in  painting  for 
suggesting  the  operation  of  one  thing  upon  another,  and 
thus  for  interpreting  the  meaning.  But,  of  course,  this 
is  not  true  of  all  statues.  The  colossal  figure  in  the  Par- 
thenon of  Pallas  by  Pheidias  is  said  to  have  been  modelled 
in  the  form  of  a  maiden  clad  in  armor,  but  victorious  and 
ruling  in  serene  majesty.  On  her  breast  was  an  aegis 
with  a  Gorgon's  head,  on  her  head  a  helmet,  in  her  left 
hand  a  spear,  at  her  right  side  a  shield  under  which 
coiled  a  serpent ;  and  in  her  left  hand,  resting  on  the 
shield,  an  image  of  the  goddess  of  victory.  Evidently, 
this  statue  was  surrounded  by  all  the  accessories  needed 


424" '  'REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

to  interpret  it.  And  were  we  under  no  obligations  in 
this  art  to  regard  a  contrary  tendency,  it  might  follow 
that  the  more  objects  or  figures  that  could  be  grouped  in 
a  product,  the  more  likely  would  it  be  to  appear  effective. 
But,  as  we  shall  find  in  Chapter  XXVI. ,  this  art  has  limita- 
tions of  a  kind  to  render  such  an  inference  erroneous.  As 
a  fact,  too,  it  will  be  noticed  that,  with  a  few  notable  ex- 
ceptions, like  the  "  Laocoon "  '  and  the  "  Children  of 
Niobe,"  athe  statues  universally  conceded  to  rank  highest 
are  not  grouped  with  others  but  are  solitary. 

The  mistakes  to  be  avoided  in  this  art  are  evidently 
the  same  as  in  the  arts  already  considered: — first,  that  of 
making  movement  too  prominent.  Statuary  is  the  rep- 
resentation of  arrested  movement,3  not  of  movement  in 
itself ;  and  to  work  upon  the  supposition  that  it  is  the 
latter  is  to  deviate  from  the  legitimate  purpose  of  the  art. 
See  what  is  said  further  on  this  subject  on  page  484.  At  the 
same  time,  the  statue  must  suggest  that  some  movement 
has  taken  place  or  is  to  do  so.  The  opposite  tendency  can 
be  made  too  prominent  only  at  the  expense  of  impressions 
of  intelligibility  and  animation.  That  which  was  meant 
fora  statue  will  then  become,  like  many  of  the  monuments 
of  our  public  men,  merely  an  effigy, — as  if,  forsooth,  its 
object  were  to  remind  one,  above  all  things,  that  the 
man  is  dead  ! 

All  this  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  in  the  foremost  statues 
we  invariably  find  indications  in  the  posture  of  that  which 

1  Fig.  21,  page   49,  "  Paint.,    Sculp.,  and  Arch,  as    Rep.  Arts"  ;     Fig. 
75,  page  226,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

2  Fig.  45,  page  146,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

3  Notice  the  statue   of  Nathan    Hale,    Fig.  159,   page  267  ;  the   Apollo 
Belvedere,  Fig.  28,  page  62  ;     "  The  Soldier's  Return,"  Fig.  23,  page  51  ; 
and  what  is  said  on  pages  298  to  302  of  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as 
Rep.  Arts  "  ;  Fig.  52,  page  176,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 


TIME-EFFECTS   SUGGESTED  IN   SCULP  TU 


has  caused  it  ;  and  these  so  decided  as  to  make  the  statue, 
notwithstanding  its  isolation  from  others,  give  no  uncertain 
report  of  itself.  For  instance,  most  of  the  Venuses,  like 
those  of  the  Medici,1  of  Dresden,  and  of  the  Capitol,  are 
represented  in  the  attitude  instinctive  to  a  woman  sur- 
prised in  a  state  of  nature.  The  inference,  therefore,  on 
the  part  of  the  spectator,  is  clear  enough.  She  is  think- 
ing, and  her  attitude  obliges  the  spectator  to  think,  of 
her  physical  appearance,  or  beauty.  The  difference  be- 
tween the  significance  expressed  in  such  a  statue  and  in 
that  of  the  Apollo  Belvedere,2  who  with  outstretched 
arms  and  uplifted  brow  seems  wholly  unconscious  of  aught 
save  his  own  godlike  mission  to  the  race,  is  very  great. 
And  what  is  the  important  matter  to  be  observed  is 
that  this  difference  is  owing  to  movement  not  detailed 
but  suggested,  not  such  as  could  be  represented  in  poetry, 
or  in  any  form  of  language,  but  such  as  can  be  represented 
in  a  manner  strictly  appropriate  to  only  painting  or  statu- 
ary, and  yet,  even  in  this,  in  a  manner  sufficiently  distinct 
to  render  the  impression  of  life  and  of  a  distinctive 
character  of  life  unmistakable. 

At  first  thought,  architecture  appears  to  be  the  most 
difficult  of  all  the  arts  to  which  to  apply  the  principles 
under  notice.  It  is  not  at  once  easy  to  perceive  how  it 
can  suggest  effects  in  time,  or  progress.  We  may  gain 
our  clue  to  this,  however,  from  what  was  said  of  land- 
scape-gardening. It  was  remarked  that  in  this  art  these 
effects  are  produced  in  the  degree  in  which  a  plot  of 
ground,  with  its  vegetation,  appears  to  have  grown  to  be 
what  it  is.  A  similar  statement  may  be  made  with  refer- 
ence to  architecture.  It  is  apparent,  on  the  one  hand, 

'Fig.  38,  page  77,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

a  See  Fig.  28,  page  62,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


426      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

that  a  building  or  parts  of  a  building,  owing  either  to  out- 
line or  color  or  situation  or  to  all  these  combined,  may 
look,  as  we  say,  wholly  out  of  place — i.  e.,  as  if  it  had  been 
made  for  some  other  place,  and  then,  arbitrarily,  without 
reason,  dropped  where  we  find  it ;  or,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  reverse  may  be  true.  Everything  about  it  may  seem 
so  well  adapted  to  its  purpose  or  position  that  it  shall 
suggest  the  results  of  natural  growth  almost  as  much  as 
of  art. 

As  we  always  need  to  bear  in  mind,  a  building,  in  just 
as  true  a  sense  as  a  poem,  a  symphony,  a  picture,  or  a 
statue,  is  the  embodied  expression  of  an  idea.  In  archi- 
tecture, this  idea  is  a  plan.  It  is  sown,  so  to  speak,  in  a 
particular  locality ;  and  there  straightway  it  springs  into 
walls,  branches  into  wings,  leaves  into  doors  and  windows, 
flowers  into  capstones  and  roofs,  and  sometimes  filaments 
into  spires.  In  causing  it  to  do  this,  it  is  evident  that  the 
artist  must  avoid  the  same  two  tendencies  to  which  refer- 
ence has  been  made  in  connection  with  the  other  arts. 

First,  the  suggestion  of  progress  must  not  be  made  too 
prominent.  That  a  building  should  seem  overgrown,  is 
as  fatal  to  architectural  beauty  as  would  be  a  similar 
development  in  a  human  being.  All  appropriate  orna- 
mentation, as  brought  out  in  "  Painting,  Sculpture,  and 
Architecture  as  Representative  Arts,"  is  the  result  of  an 
adaptation  of  means  to  ends.  A  roof,  for  instance,  is  a 
necessary  conclusion  in  the  case  of  every  erection  de- 
signed for  protection ;  but  towers  or  turrets  are  not. 
Upon  a  hill-side  or  elevation,  a  tower  may  indicate  a 
view ;  but  what  is  its  meaning  in  a  valley  or  surrounded 
by  a  forest  ?  Over  a  public  building  a  dome  may  sug- 
gest a  hall  beneath,  too  lofty  and  too  vast  to  enable  it 
to  afford  support  to  an  ordinary  roof ;  but  of  what  is  it 


UNITY  AND  PROGRESS  IN  ARCHITECTURE.        427 

significant  in  a  private  house  ?  In  connection  with  a  mosque 
or  church,  a  minaret  or  spire  may  recall  a  "  call  to  prayer,'* 
or  suggest  a  bell  or  even  the  heaven  above  ;  but  who  can 
understand  the  connection  between  these  suggestions  and 
a  warehouse  ?  To  have  such  protuberances  needlessly 
multiplied,  or  the  wall-surfaces  that  support  them  broken 
without  some  cause  in  the  plan  which  necessitates  the  ar- 
rangement, i.  e.,  to  have  false  appearances  merely  because 
the  artist  fancies  that  the  plan  —  although  it  does  not  — 
ought  to  need  such  adaptations  or  developments, — this  is 
evidently  to  attempt  to  atone  for  poverty  of  conception 
by  deceit  in  expression  ;  and  how  can  the  result  be  ex- 
pected to  be  more  dignified  than  that  which  always  fol- 
lows superficiality,  or  —  what  in  art  is  the  same  thing  — 
artificiality  ?  Is  it  not  about  time  that  mansard  roofs  and 
wooden  cornices,  which  are  no  real  roofs  or  cornices  at 
all,  with  their  various  mouldings  almost  as  light  as  if 
intentionally  curled  into  shavings,  should  be  committed 
to  the  flames,  once  and  forever  ?  This  is  said  not  merely 
because  they  are  frauds,  but  because  they  are  —  what  in 
art  is  worse  —  palpable  frauds,  frauds  clearly  seen  to  afford 
no  legitimate  conclusion  whatever  to  a  wall  of  stone, — 
donkey's  ears  protruding  where  they  are  clearly  seen  to 
have  no  connection  with  the  body  under  them. 

Leaving  to  be  suggested  in  another  place  what  might 
be  added  here  with  reference  to  effects  of  violent  con- 
trasts in  the  colors  of  a  building,  whether  considered  in 
itself  or  in  connection  with  its  site,  we  pass  on  to  the 
other  tendency  to  be  avoided,  viz.,  that  of  making  effects 
in  space  too  prominent  ;  and  by  consequence,  of  not  re- 
garding the  necessity  of  imparting  to  the  plan  an  appear- 
ance of  being  a  growth  or  development.  Consider,  for 
instance,  the  character  of  a  building  which  in  America  is 


428      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

termed  a  store.  Of  course,  its  external  appearance  should 
not  be  the  same  as  that  of  a  dwelling.  The  light  and 
airy  framework  and  the  cheerful  colors,  the  bay-windows 
and  the  balconies  that  impart  in  the  latter  so  irresistible 
an  impression  of  coziness  and  comfort,  are  not  in  the 
stores  appropriate.  Yet  this  is  scarcely  a  reason  why  they 
should  convey  no  further  intimations  of  design  than  so 
many  boxes  ranged  in  a  row.  A  store  should  show,  at  least, 
that  it  is  a  building,  that  it  is  more  than  a  combination 
of  walls  and  apertures.  It  may  not  be  necessary,  in  an 
age  in  which  these  might  not  be  adapted  to  our  wants,  to 
go  back  to  the  picturesque  gables  and  roofs  found  in  the 
older  German  cities  ;  but  an  approach  to  the  truth  that 
was  manifest  in  those  honest  windows  and  water-sheds 
would  certainly  impart  to  our  buildings  more  effects  of 
import. 

The  same  is  true  with  reference  to  the  appearance  of 
organic  connection  between  different  parts  of  one  build- 
ing or  between  adjoining  buildings.  Viewed  horizontally 
or  perpendicularly,  what  a  hodge-podge  of  discordant 
styles  and  colors  do  many  of  our  single  edifices  and 
whole  blocks  and  streets  present !  Every  one  admits  the 
superior  attractiveness  of  a  building  or  of  a  collection  of 
buildings  all  the  members  of  which,  taken  together,  sug- 
gest unity  of  design :  as  applied  especially  to  a  collection, 
every  one  knows  that,  if  the  builders  of  adjoining  struc- 
tures could  only  agree,  our  avenues  and  public  institutions 
might  have  an  effect  as  symmetrical  as  those  of  Paris. 
Why  then  do  these  builders  not  agree?  Let  them  con- 
fess it  or  not,  the  real  reason  often  is  because  others  with 
more  money  than  themselves,  or  some  of  themselves  with 
more  money  than  others,  are  architectural  snobs.  And  the 
snob  here,  as  elsewhere,  sacrifices  all  other  considerations 


ARCHITECTURE  CONFORMED  TO NA  TURAL  SCENERY 429 

to  emphasize  his  own  obtrusiveness.  The  author  knows 
of  an  instance  in  which  an  addition  in  one  style  was 
erected  against  a  building  constructed  in  an  entirely  differ- 
ent style,  thus  impairing  the  beauty  of  both  structures,  for 
the  avowed  purpose  of  letting  everybody  know  that  each 
of  the  two  had  been  erected  by  a  different  benefactor.  Is 
it  too  much  to  say  that  subtle  analysis  may  occasionally 
find  reason  to  suspect  that  it  is  the  lack  of  the  good  and 
the  true  in  American  manhood,  that  causes  the  lack  of  the 
beautiful  in  the  American  city  street  or  college  campus?1 
Is  it  this  lack  in  character  that  destroys  the  symmetry  of 
adjoining  buildings  by  throwing  the  cornice  of  the  last 
comer  just  enough  above  that  of  its  fellows  to  produce 
the  effect  —  and  for  a  similar  reason  — of  the  feather  that 
stands  straighter  and  higher  than  any  surrounding  it,  in 
the  head -gear  of  the  uncivilized  Indian?  And  then, 
besides  the  outlines,  think  for  a  moment  of  the  inhar- 
mony  of  the  colors! — sometimes  of  the  paint,  sometimes 
of  the  brick  and  stone,  imported  too,  at  great  expense 
from  distant  places,  to  afford  another  opportunity  for  the 
snob's  exhibition  of  himself !  The  whole  method  of  pro- 
cedure is  as  fatal  to  the  requirements  of  sound  aesthetics 
as  of  neighborly  courtesy. 

In  a  city  where  the  soil  and  surrounding  scenery  are 
seldom  visible,  the  shapes  and  colors  of  buildings  may  be 
matters  to  be  settled  only  by  general  laws  controlling  har- 
mony and  contrast.  But  in  the  open  country  it  is  different. 
Certain  outlines  and  hues  utterly  destroy  the  suggestion 
of  the  effects  of  growth  or  life.  Invariably  in  such  a  site, 
that  sort  of  formation  and  material  presents  the  best  ap- 
pearance which  seems  most  native  to  the  soil  from  which 

1  See  further  on  this  subject  pages  363  to  371,  "Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and 
Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


430      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

the  building  springs.  One  of  the  most  charming  features 
in  connection  with  the  castles  on  the  Rhine,  for  instance, 
is  their  apparent  correspondence — always  in  the  nature 
and  color  of  the  building-material,  and  sometimes  in  out- 
line— to  the  demands  of  the  surrounding  scenery.  Art 
seems  in  them  to  have  simply  carried  out  the  suggestions 
of  nature. 

Indeed,  had  we  time  for  it,  it  would  be  interesting  to 
study  the  extent  to  which  such  suggestions  have  influ- 
enced those  who  have  originated  different  styles  of  archi- 
tecture. On  the  borders  of  the  Nile,  where  the  eye  must 
see  constantly  the  low  and  seldom  undulating  lines  of  the 
horizon  giving  way  to  the  clean-cut  limits  of  an  almost 
cloudless  sky,  where  man  learns  of  multiformity  mainly 
through  the  squarely  shaped  limbs  of  the  cactus  and  the 
palm,  the  proudest  achievement  of  Egyptian  architecture 
seems  to  have  been  to  chisel  angular  outlines  like  those  of 
the  pyramids,  and  to  embody  an  ideal  of  symmetry  in  the 
stiff  smile  of  the  sphynx.  But  just  across  the  sea,  amid 
the  same  clearness  of  atmosphere,  yet  surrounded  by  a 
more  generous  guise  of  objects  on  the  earth,  that  heave 
heavenward  through  grand  hills  and  bend  genially  down 
amid  the  shadows  of  mysterious  groves,  have  been  reared 
the  no  less  distinctly  outlined  but  far  more  varied  and 
symmetrical  column  and  capital  of  the  Grecian  temple. 
Beyond  this  land  again,  amid  the  vapory  climate  of  the 
north,  where  on  either  side  the  high  horizon  reaches  up  in 
outlines  indistinct,  that  blend  with  mountains  existing 
often  only  in  the  clouds,  the  child  of  storm  and  fog  has 
drawn  the  hazy  lines  that  sprout  and  branch  out  into  pin- 
nacle and  spire  above  the  spirit  whose  ideal  of  architec- 
ture seems  complete  alone  when  he  is  gazing  upward 
toward  his  lofty  Gothic  arch  and  finial.  To-day,  in  our 


ARCHITECTURE  CONFORMED  TO  NA  TURAL  SCENER  Y  43 1 

own  land,  with  the  experience  and  the  models  of  the  past 
to  guide  us,  we  may  take  our  choice  of  any  of  these  styles  ; 
and  we  can  learn  much  from  the  study  of  them.  But 
while  we  study  them  with  care  let  us  be  sure  that  we  are 
paying  equal  heed  to  the  promptings  of  nature  without 
us  and  within  us.  Let  us  be  sure  that  we  are  not  some- 
times producing  forms  that  are  foreign  to  our  own  sur- 
roundings and  demands,  and  are  thus  untrue  to  one  of  the 
first  principles  of  the  art  in  fulfilment  of  which  they  are 
supposed  to  be  constructed. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

SIGNIFICANCE   AS    MAINLY   ATTRIBUTABLE   TO   THE   ELE- 
MENTS  OF  ART-FORM   IN   TIME  ALONE   OR   IN  SPACE 
ALONE  :     REPRESENTATION    IN    POETRY,    MUSIC, 
AND  ORATORY,  AS  CONTRASTED  WITH  THAT 
IN    LANDSCAPE-GARDENING,    PAINTING, 
SCULPTURE,  AND   ARCHITECTURE. 

Different  General  Conceptions  Demand  Different  Elementary  Forms  of 
Representation — Poetry  and  Music  are  both  Made  up  of  Different 
Phases  of  Sounds  Heard  in  Time  ;  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architec- 
ture are  made  up  of  Different  Phases  of  Shapes  Seen  in  Space — Sounds 
that  Move  in  Time,  and  Shapes  that  Stand  in  Space,  Represent  Dif- 
ferently— Form  of  Representation  Determined  by  what  the  Mind 
Wishes  to  Express,  not  by  what  has  Influenced  it :  a  Story  may  Repre- 
sent a  Scene — This  Principle  Applied  to  Descriptive  Poetry — Talfourd 
— Crabbe — Wordsworth — Other  Examples — Why  in  Early  Ages  Poetic 
Conceptions  are  most  Clearly  Differentiated  from  those  of  Painting — 
Homer — His  Method  as  Described  by  Lessing — The  Drama  and  the 
Law  of  the  Unities— Derived  from  Requirements  of  Other  Arts — Also 
from  those  of  Epic  Poetry — Why  English  Drama  did  not  Fulfil  these 
Laws— Architectural  Conception  at  the  Basis  of  Wordsworth's  "Ex- 
cursion"—  Non-Poetic  Conception  in  Other  English  Poems  —  Non- 
Poetic  Description  of  Cathedral— Of  Natural  Scenery — Even  when 
Imaginative — Passages  Illustrating  Poetic  Conceptions — Another,  Il- 
lustrating a  Painter's  Conception — Contrasted  with  a  Poetic  One — 
Different  Classes  of  Poetry  Represent  Different  Degrees  of  Movement. 

T  N  tracing  the  methods  of  expression  through  forms 
adapted  for  this  purpose  from  the  sounds  and  sights 
of  nature,  we  have  now  reached  the  final  stage.  From 
Chapter  VI.  to  the  present,  we  have  been  analyzing  sig- 
nificance less  and  less  general  in  its  character,  —  first 

432 


DISTINCTNESS  IN  ART-REPRESENTATION.        433 

religious,  scientific,  and  artistic,  then  artistic  alone,  and 
then  only  phases  of  the  artistic, — and  showing  how  each 
is  represented  through  methods  common  to  all  the  arts. 
We  have  now  reached  a  point  where  we  can  analyze  no 
further  without  taking  up  such  phases  as  can  be  represented 
in  only  a  single  art.  In  the  chapters  remaining,  attention 
will  be  confined  to  these  phases,  our  object  being  to 
detect,  if  possible,  how  to  distinguish  each  of  them  from 
all  others.  That  this  object  is  important,  needs  no  argu- 
ing. Only  in  the  degree  in  which  it  is  correctly  solved 
by  the  artist,  will  he  be  able  to  correlate  his  subject-matter 
to  his  form,  and  his  form  to  his  subject-matter,  in  such 
ways  as  to  render  both  in  the  highest  degree  effective. 
41  The  aim  of  a  work  of  art,"  says  Taine  in  his  "  Ideal  in 
Art,"  "  is  to  make  known  some  leading  and  important 
character  more  effectively  and  clearly  than  objects  them- 
selves do."  "  Distinctiveness  and  richness  of  idea,"  says 
Prof.  H.  N.  Day,  in  his  "Science  of  ^Esthetics,"  "are 
indispensable  in  all  art.  .  .  .  The  first  work  of  the 
artist  is  to  shape  this  ideal  into  more  complete  and 
definite  outline."  Evidently  the  earliest  step  toward  im- 
parting effects  of  clearness  and  definiteness  of  idea  must 
be  taken  by  distinguishing  the  phase  of  significance 
appropriate  for  one  art  from  that  appropriate  for  another. 
As  we  start  out  to  do  this,  we  are  reminded  of  what 
was  indicated  in  Chapter  XXII.,  namely,  that  poetry  and 
music  are  composed  of  words  or  notes  that  follow  one 
another,  and  are  thus  fitted  to  reproduce  movement  in 
time,  but  only  to  suggest  arrangement  in  space  ;  and 
that  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture  are  composed 
of  colors  or  outlines  that  appear  side  by  side,  and  are 
thus  fitted  to  reproduce  arrangement  in  space,  but  only 

to   suggest    movement   in    time.      But,    apart    from    this 

28 


434      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

very  clear  line  of  demarcation  between  the  arts  that 
are  apprehended  in  time  and  in  space,  all  the  arts  on 
either  side  of  this  line  have  characteristics  separating 
them  from  one  another.  Poetry  is  composed  of  articu- 
lated words,  each  of  which  conveys  to  the  intellect 
a  definite  meaning.  Music  is  composed  of  inarticulated 
notes  not  one  of  which,  of  itself,  conveys  a  definite 
meaning,  and  several  of  which,  joined  together,  convey  a 
meaning  which,  while  approximately  definite  to  emotion, 
is  not  necessarily  so  to  the  understanding.  Painting  is 
composed  of  colors  and  outlines  made  to  resemble  defi- 
nitely those  of  nature;  sculpture,  of  outlines  and  bulk  made 
to  do  the  same ;  but  architecture,  of  colors,  outline,  and 
bulk,  which,  while  fulfilling  the  general  principles  of  con- 
struction in  nature,  do  so  in  only  an  indefinite  way,  in  a 
way  analogous,  therefore,  to  that  in  which  music  fulfils 
the  laws  of  intonation  in  speech.  Hence  the  appropriate- 
ness of  the  term  applied  to  architecture  by  Madame  de 
Stae'l, —  "frozen  music." 

Now  let  us  take  up  each  of  the  arts  in  order,  and  try  to 
determine  those  characteristics  which  separate  its  form 
from  the  forms  of  the  other  arts,  and  which,  by  so  doing, 
limit  the  phase  of  significance  that  the  form  can  appro- 
priately represent.  That  this  phase  should  be  limited 
thus,  is  no  new  conception.  It  is  as  old,  certainly,  as 
the  time  of  Plutarch.  In  modern  times,  Lessing  has  ex- 
panded it  in  his  "  Laocoon,"  emphasizing  particularly  the 
difference  due  to  the  fact  that  certain  arts  appear  in  time, 
and  others  in  space.  "  The  rule  is  this,"  he  says  (Sec.  18, 
Frothingham's  translation),  "  that  succession  in  time  is  the 
province  of  the  poet,"  and  of  course,  he  would  have  added, 
had  he  been  referring  to  music,  of  the  musician  also  ; 
"coexistence  in  space,  that  of  the  artist," — by  which  he 


REPRESENTAJ^ION  OF  ACTIONS    VERSUS  BODIES.  435 

meant,  one  who  produces  works  distinctively  of  painting 
or  sculpture.  "  Objects  which  succeed  one  another,  or 
whose  parts  succeed  one  another  in  time,"  he  says  in  Sec. 
16,  "  are  actions.  Consequently  actions  are  the  peculiar 
subjects  of  poetry.  .  .  .  Objects  which  exist  side  by 
side,  or  whose  parts  so  exist,  are  called  bodies.  Conse- 
quently, bodies  with  their  visible  properties  are  the  peculiar 
subjects  of  painting."  .  .  .  And  again  (Sec.  18),  "To  try 
to  present  a  complete  picture  to  the  reader  by  enumerat- 
ing in  succession  several  parts  or  things,  which  in  nature 
the  eye  necessarily  takes  in  at  a  glance,  is  an  encroachment 
of  the  poet  on  the  domain  of  the  painter.  .  .  .  To  bring 
together  into  one  and  the  same  picture  two  points  of  time 
necessarily  remote,  as  Mazzuoli  does  in  the  *  Rape  of  the 
Sabine  Women,'  and  the  reconciliation  effected  by  them 
between  their  husbands  and  relations ;  or,  as  Titian  does, 
representing  in  one  piece  the  whole  story  of  the  prodi- 
gal son  ...  is  an  encroachment  of  the  painter  on  the 
domain  of  the  poet."  It  will  be  perceived  that  the  force 
of  this  criticism  is  derived  from  the  supposition  that  the 
arts  are  representative.  Lessing  argues  that  as  effects  are 
presented  in  nature,  whether  in  time  or  in  space,  so  must 
they  be  presented  in  art.  There  must  be  no  attempt, 
therefore,  to  represent  through  music  and  poetry  effects 
that  can  be  presented  adequately  only  in  space,  or  in 
bodies ;  nor  to  represent  through  painting  and  sculpture, 
those  that  can  be  presented  adequately  only  in  time,  or  in 
movement. 

There  is  an  objection  to  the  theory  of  Lessing  thus 
stated,  which  is  met  and  obviated  by  the  further  develop- 
ment of  the  general  principle  underlying  it,  which  is  un- 
folded in  Chapters  XVI.  to  XIX.  of  "  Art  in  Theory." 
The  objection  is,  that  a  literal  application  of  the  theory 


436      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

seems  to  necessitate  the  artist's  invariably  representing  in 
a  story  something  that  is  heard  in  time — in  other  words, 
something  that  is  received  by  him  in  the  form  of  a  story ; 
as  also  his  invariably  representing  in  a  picture  something 
that  is  seen  in  space,  or  that  is  received  by  him  in  the  form 
of  a  picture.  As  a  fact,  however,  it  often  happens  that 
the  forms  through  which  effects  have  been  exerted  upon 
the  mind  have  lingered  so  long  in  it,  and  experienced  so 
many  modifications  there,  that,  though  critical  analysis 
may  detect,  as  in  architecture  and  music,  that  the  effects 
have  been  suggested  by  forms  in  nature, 'the  artist  himself 
is  unconscious  of  what  these  forms  were.  Often,  too, 
even  though  not  unconscious  of  this,  the  effect  upon  his 
imagination  has  been  such  that  what  was  experienced  as 
the  result,  say  of  hearing  a  story,  can  be  represented 
truthfully  only  through  a  picture,  and  vice  versa.  Indeed, 
as  shown  in  Chapters  XVI.  to  XIX.  of  "Art  in  Theory,'* 
exactly  the  same  experience,  at  different  stages  of  the 
development  of  its  influence  upon  the  mind,  can  be  rep- 
resented appropriately  only  as  represented  through  the 
medium  of  a  different  art.  Therefore,  though  there  is  a 
general  truth  in  Lessing's  principle,  when  one  comes  to 
apply  it  practically,  the  question  to  be  asked  is  not  whether 
the  conception  was  derived  from  a  form  appearing  in  time 
or  in  space,  but  whether,  as  it  has  affected  the  mind,  it  can 
be  represented  to  others  in  time  or  in  space.  But  notice 
that,  when  we  ask  this  question,  it  necessitates  our  asking 
another.  This  has  reference  to  the  mental  condition  legiti- 
mately expressed  in  a  form  in  time  or  in  space.  Let  us 
apply  the  question,  first,  to  a  form  of  poetry  as  contrasted 
with  one  of  painting.  When  a  man  uses  words,  as  he  does 
in  the  phase  of  consciousness  represented  in  poetry,  he 
thinks  of  certain  scenes  in  the  external  world  because  they 


CHARACTERISTICS   OF  POETIC  DESCRIPTION.     437 

are  suggested  not  by  anything  that  he  is  actually,  at  the 
time,  perceiving  there,  but  by  his  memory  that  is  recalling 
them.  To  one  likening  his  actions  to  those  of  Nelson  at 
Trafalgar,  or  of  Dewey  at  Manila,  these  men  are  not  really 
present,  only  ideally  so.  As  objects  of  thought,  they  are 
not  outside  of  the  thinker's  mind,  they  are  in  it.  In  the 
phase  of  consciousness  represented  in  painting,  however,  a 
man  thinks  of  external  scenes  because  they  are  actually 
before  him.  He  is  much  more  clearly  aware  than  in  the 
former  case,  of  two  different  sources  of  thought — one  with- 
in and  the  other  without.  The  objective  world  is  really 
present.  If  he  wish  to  represent  this  fact,  he  must  do 
it  in  some  other  way  than  through  words  alone ;  because 
words  contain  only  what  is  in  the  mind,  or  is  ideally  pres- 
ent there.  He  must  use  an  external  medium,  as  in  paint- 
ing, sculpture,  or  architecture. 

Notice  now  that,  as  applied  to  poetry,  the  facts  just 
mentioned  seem  to  rule  out  of  its  domain  any  descriptive 
details  other  than  those  of  such  prominence  that  a  man 
observing  them  might  reasonably  be  supposed  to  be  able 
to  retain  them  in  memory, — other  than  details — to  state  it 
differently — which  have  been  stored  in  the  mind,  and 
are  brought  to  consciousness  because,  apparently,  the  most 
important  factors  entering  into  the  general  mental  effect. 
There  is,  of  course,  a  certain  interest,  though  sometimes 
not  above  that  which  is  merely  topographic  or  botanic, 
awakened  by  minute  descriptions  of  fields  and  flowers, 
such  as  a  painter  on  the  spot  would  be  able  to  give  while 
carefully  scrutinizing  these  in  order  to  depict  them.  But 
descriptions  of  this  kind  do  not  accurately  represent  the 
processes  of  thought  of  which,  when  using  words,  the 
mind  is  conscious.  Such  descriptions  do  not  represent,  as 
words  should,  the  mental  results  of  the  action  of  the 


438      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

poetic  imagination,  and,  therefore,  they  do  not  appeal,  as 
poetic  words  should,  to  the  imaginations  of  others.  Here, 
for  instance,  is  a  passage  written  with  the  motive  of  the 
painter.  The  readers  of  it  instinctively  think  of  a  plot  of 
ground,  i.  e.,  of  a  mindless  thing  standing  between  their 
thoughts  and  the  thought  of  the  writer.  They  are  not 
brought  into  immediate  communication  with  the  living 
mind  from  which  the  words  come,  and  therefore  their 
minds  are  not  addressed  directly  by  this  mind,  as,  through 
the  use  of  words,  they  should  be  addressed : 


From  the  gate 

Of  this  home-featured  inn,  which  nestling  cleaves 
To  its  own  shelf  among  the  downs,  begirt 
With  trees  which  lift  no  branches  to  defy 
The  fury  of  the  storm 

the  heart-soothed  guest 

Views  a  furze-dotted  common,  on  each  side 
Wreathed  into  waving  eminences,  clothed 
Above  the  furze  with  scanty  green,  in  front 
Indented  sharply  to  admit  the  sea 
Spread  thence  in  softest  hue — to  which  a  gorge 
Sinking  within  the  valley's  deepening  green 
Invites  by  grassy  path. 

Alum  Bay  :  Thomas  Noon  Talfourd. 

Now  let  us  notice  a  passage  in  which  the  description  of 
the  external  world  is  subordinated  to  the  thought  in  the 
same  way  in  which  a  scene  of  nature  is,  when  it  is  recalled 
by  memory.  As  contrasted  with  the  last  quotation,  the 
reader  will  recognize  in  the  following  a  far  more  immediate 
communication  of  thought  and  feeling  between  mind  and 
mind,  while,  at  the  same  time,  nothing  is  described  which 
in  a  picture  could  be  any  more  than  suggestively 
represented : 


CHARACTERISTICS   OF  POETIC  DESCRIPTION.      439 

Home  went  the  lovers  through  that  busy  place 

By  Loddon  Hall,  the  country's  pride  and  grace  ; 

By  the  rich  meadows  where  the  oxen  fed, 

Through  the  green  vale  that  formed  the  river's  bed, 

And  by  unnumbered  cottages  and  farms 

That  have  for  musing  minds  unnumbered  charms  : 

And  how  affected  by  the  view  of  these 

Was  now  Orlando  ? — did  they  pain  or  please  ? 

Nor  pain  nor  pleasure  could  they  yield — and  why  ? 

The  mind  was  filled,  was  happy,  and  the  eye 

Roved  over  fleeting  views  that  but  appeared  to  die. 

The  Lover's  Journey  :  Geo.  Crabbe. 

This  method  of  description,  however,  manifests  nega- 
tive rather  than  positive  excellence.  There  are  other 
passages  in  which  the  external  scene  is  not,  as  in  this  last 
case,  subordinated  in  the  sense  of  having  certain  of  its 
details  let  alone,  but  in  the  sense  of  having  everything 
important  to  the  effect  positively  introduced.  As  we  read 
the  following,  for  instance,  is  it  not  true  that  we  are  con- 
stantly being  made  conscious  of  thinking  more  of  what 
the  poet  thought  than  of  what  he  saw  ;  and  this  because 
what  he  saw  has  been  used,  not  for  its  own  sake,  but  to 
give  form  to  what  he  thought  ?  As  a  result,  is  it  not  true 
that  we  find  certain  images  rising  up  in  imagination 
and  suggestively  taking  form,  just  as  previously  they  may 
be  supposed  to  have  taken  form  in  the  mind  of  the  author, 
giving  us  thus  an  illustration  of  what  an  artist's  creative 
imagination  can  do  in  the  way  of  stimulating  creative 
imagination  on  the  part  of  others  ? 

At  my  feet 

Rested  a  silent  sea  of  hoary  mist. 
A  hundred  hills  their  dusky  backs  upheaved 
All  over  that  still  ocean  ;  and  beyond, 
Far,  far  beyond,  the  solid  vapors  stretched 


440      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

In  headlands,  tongues,  and  promontory  shapes, 
Into  the  main  Atlantic  that  appeared 
To  dwindle  and  give  up  his  majesty, 
Usurped  upon  far  as  the  sight  could  reach. 

Prelude,  xiv  :  Wordsworth. 

Another  phase  of  poetic  description  seems  also  possible, 
a  phase  in  which  the  thing  described  is  subordinated,  not 
only  in  the  sense  of  having  certain  of  its  features  over- 
looked, or,  if  not  so,  observed  merely  for  suggestive  pur- 
poses, but  in  the  sense  of  having  the  features  used  and 
moved — in  fact  made  almost  to  breathe  and  palpitate — in 
order  to  embody  the  significance.  The  following  are  at- 
tempts to  represent  such  a  condition  : 

A  year  pass'd  over  me.     Can  I  forget 

That  wondrous  April  day  that  set  me  free  ? 

At  first,  as  though  I  own'd  no  soul  at  all, 

I  seem'd  myself  a  part  of  that  wide  air, 

And  all  things  else  had  souls.     The  very  earth 

Beneath  me  seem'd  to  breathe  !  its  pulse  to  throb 

Through  every  trembling  bush  !  its  breast  to  heave, 

Where  the  soft  wind-sighs  thrill'd  the  wooded  hills  ! 

And  then,  this  great  life  broke  in  many  lives, 

All  one  through  sympathy.     In  lieu  of  clouds, 

The  gusty  breeze  caught  up  the  fluttering  lark 

And  shook  down  showers  of  trills  that  made  bare  rocks 

More  sweet  than  fount-spray'd  flowers,  while  all  the  leaves 

Went  buzzing  on  their  boughs  like  scent-lured  bees. 

Then  reverence  hush'd  the  whole  ;  for,  greeting  me, 

Our  dear  church  spire  appear'd  to  mount  the  hill, 

Our  home  to  reach  around  a  slow-turn'd  rock, — 

And  all  stood  still  with  Haydn.     Chill  as  ice, 

My  hot  cheek  felt  my  sister's  kiss  then,  then  my  sire's, 

And  then  bewilder'd,  as  from  out  a  dream, 

At  last  I  woke. 

And  what  a  dawn  was  that  ! 
As  if  the  sun  had  drawn  the  earth  to  itself. 


CHARACTERISTICS   OF  POETIC  DESCRIPTION.       44! 

I  dwelt  in  central  light  ;  and  heaven,  high  heaven — 
Could  feel  some  rays,  perhaps,  was  touch'd  by  them, 
At  star-points  in  the  sky,  but  own'd  no  more. 

Haydn  :  G.  L.  Raymond. 

"  Ah  me  !  "  I  sigh'd,  yet  strangely  ;  for  there  seem'd, 

While  all  the  way  the  twilight  thicker  sank, 

Sweet  silence  luring  dreamward  wind  and  bird 

Until  the  reverent  air  lay  hush'd  to  heed 

The  hallowing  influence  of  holier  stars. 

And,  all  the  way,  deep  folding  round  my  soul, 

With  every  nerve  vibrating  at  its  touch, 

Fell  dim  delight,  through  which,  as  through  a  veil, 

Some  nearer  presence  breath'd  of  holier  life. 

Ah,  wandering  Heart,  and  had  I  had  my  day  ? — 

With  closing  gates  as  golden  as  yon  west  ? 

And  whither  was  I  moving  in  the  dark  ? — 

"  Who  knows?  "  my  spirit  ask'd,   "  who  knows  or  cares  ? 

On  through  the  twilight  threshold,  trustingly  '. 

What  hast  thou,  Night,  that  weary  souls  need  fear? 

Thou  home  of  love  entranced,  thou  haunt  of  dreams, 

Thy  halls  alone  can  hoard  the  truth  of  heaven  ! 

Thy  dome  alone  can  rise  to  reach  the  stars  !  " 

Ideals  Made  Real :  Idem. 

Enough  has  been  quoted  to  show  what  is  meant  by  de- 
scriptive poetry  in  which  there  is  nothing  that  a  painter 
could  reproduce  except  suggestively.  It  is  conceivable 
too,  that  no  other  form  of  description  ever  would  have 
been  introduced  into  poetry,  had  its  authors  been  affected 
by  no  other  motives  than  those  peculiar  to  their  own  art. 
But  all  late  periods  of  production  in  every  art  develop  a 
tendency  causing  its  producers  to  cease  to  be  thus  affected. 
This  is  because  of  the  mutual  influence  which  artists  in 
different  departments  always  exert  upon  one  another. 
Who  has  not  asked  himself  why  it  is  that  to-day  we  find 
so  many  of  the  best  models  of  art  in  all  its  branches 
among  the  earlier  products  of  the  kind  ?  And  what  is  the 


442      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

answer?  Is  not  one  reason  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that, 
in  the  absence  of  specimens  of  the  sister  arts  which  crowd 
around  and  confuse  the  aims  of  the  modern  workman,  the 
ancient  one  was  in  a  better  condition  to  confine  himself  to 
the  legitimate  promptings  of  the  phase  of  consciousness 
natural  to  his  own  art  ? 

There  was  Homer,  for  instance.  Instead  of  receiving  his 
methods,  as  do  so  many  of  our  modern  poets,  at  second 
hand,  one  glance  looking  at  nature  and  one  at  some  other 
representation  of  something  in  a  picture  or  a  statue ; 
partly,  perhaps,  because  of  his  individual  blindness,  but 
mainly  because  he  lived  before  the  other  arts  had  reached 
their  maturity,  he  described  the  earth  and  human  life  at 
first  hand,  and  in  a  manner  natural  to  one  prompted  solely 
by  a  poetic  motive.  He  used  words  following  one  an- 
other, and  instinctively  he  represented  scenes  following 
one  another.  As  Lessing  points  out,  when  he  wished  to 
tell  how  Agamemnon  was  dressed,  he  made  him  put  on 
every  article  of  raiment  in  our  presence, — the  soft  tunic, 
the  great  mantle,  the  beautiful  sandals,  and  the  sword,  and 
finally  to  grasp  the  sceptre.  We  are  thus  caused  to  see 
the  clothes  through  the  act  of  dressing.  An  inferior  poet 
would  have  described  the  clothes  much  more  in  detail, 
possibly  down  to  the  minutest  fringe,  but  of  the  action 
we  should  have  seen  nothing. 

And  sat  upright  and  put  his  tunic  on, 
Soft,  fair,  and  new,  and  over  that  he  cast 
His  ample  cloak,  and  round  his  shapely  feet 
Laced  the  becoming  sandals.     Next  he  hung 
Upon  his  shoulders  and  his  side  the  sword 
With  silver  studs,  and  took  into  his  hand 
The  ancestral  sceptre,  old  but  undecayed. 

Iliad,  ii.  :  Bryan? s  Translation. 

"  For  a  single  thing,"  says  Lessing  again,  "  Homer  has 


THE  LAW  OF    THE    UNITIES.  443 

commonly  but  a  single  epithet.  A  ship  is  to  him  at  one 
time  the  *  black  ship,'  at  another  the  '  hollow  ship,'  and 
again  the  '  swift  ship.'  .  .  .  Further  painting  of  the  ship 
he  does  not  attempt.  But  of  the  ship's  sailing,  its  departure 
and  arrival,  he  makes  so  detailed  a  picture  that  the  artist 
would  have  to  paint  five  or  six,  to  put  the  whole  on  can- 
vas. .  .  .  He  wants,  for  instance,  to  paint  us  the  bow 
of  Pandarus.  It  is  of  horn,  of  a  certain  length,  well  pol- 
ished, and  tipped  at  both  ends  with  gold.  What  does  he 
do?  Does  he  enumerate  these  details  thus  drily,  one 
after  another?  By  no  means.  .  .  .  The  poet  shows  us 
in  the  process  of  creation  what  the  painter  can  only  show 
us  as  already  existing."  ("Laocoon,"  Sec.  16,  trans,  by 
E.  Frothingham.) 

He  uncovered  straight 

His  polished  bow  made  of  the  elastic  horns 
Of  a  wild  goat,  which  from  his  lurking  place, 
As  once  it  left  its  cavern  lair,  he  smote, 
And  pierced  its  breast,  and  stretched  it  on  the  rock. 
Full  sixteen  palms  in  length  the  horns  had  grown 
From  the  goat's  forehead.     Then  an  artisan 
Had  smoothed,  and  aptly  fitting  each  to  each, 
Polished  the  whole  and  tipped  the  work  with  gold. 

Iliad,  iv.  :  Bryanfs  Trans. 

But  to  leave  Lessing  and  Homer,  let  us  pass  on  to  the 
drama.  In  the  works  of  ^Eschylus,  Euripides,  and  Soph- 
ocles, as  well  as  in  those  of  Racine  and  Corneille  in  the  age 
of  Louis  XIV.,  everything  is  usually  made  to  conform  to 
what  is  termed  the  law  of  the  three  unities,  i.  e.,  the  unity 
of  time,  of  place,  and  of  action.  According  to  this  law,  the 
events  must  not  extend  over  a  period  much  longer  than 
would  be  occupied  by  similar  actual  occurrences.  They 
must  take  place  in  the  same  locality,  and  must  not  mix  the 
comic  and  the  tragic.  We  all  know  how  the  French  are 


444      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

supposed  to  have  obtained  this  law,  /'.  ^.,  by  following  the 
example  of  the  Greeks.  But  where  did  the  Greeks  get  the 
law?  Did  they  get  it  from  an  endeavor  to  represent  a  nat- 
ural— as  the  term  may  be  applied  to  a  dramatic — develop- 
ment of  character,  as  influenced  by  its  relations  to  outside 
persons  and  events?  One  can  hardly  be  sure  of  this.  Is 
it  not  a  fact  that  in  general,  decided  changes  in  phases  of 
human  thought  and  feeling  are  effected  by  only  decided 
changes  of  place,  lapses  of  time,  and  experiences  both 
grave  and  ludicrous?  And  if  one  be  thinking  of  a 
dramatic  effect  and  of  this  only  will  he  not  consider  them 
all?  Why  then  did  the  Greek  dramatist  fail  to  consider 
them  ?  How  can  we  better  account  for  the  fact  than  by 
recalling  that  he  lived  in  an  age  of  much  sculpture  and 
painting,  as  well  as  of  great  architecture,  which,  by  the 
way,  had  prepared  for  him,  among  other  things,  stages  of 
stone  upon  which,  as  constructed  and  used,  there  could  be 
no  shifting  of  scenery.  With  such  surroundings  all  his 
thoughts  with  reference  to  the  requirements  of  any  par- 
ticular art  would  necessarily  be  associated  with  what  he 
knew  of  the  demands  of  all  these  other  arts.  But  in  these 
no  success  could  be  obtained  except  by  conformity  to  this 
law  of  the  unities.  A  single  picture  or  statue  can  never 
attempt  to  represent  what  happens  at  different  times  or 
places  or  on  account  of  different  motives,  without  produc- 
ing meaningless  confusion.  But  does  it  follow  that  this  is 
the  case  in  poetry,  or  in  any  form  of  art  dealing  with 
action  in  time  rather  than  with  bodies  in  space  ?  Most 
certainly  not.  Suggestions  borrowed  from  the  law  of  the 
unities  may  often  aid  in  perfecting  the  drama ;  but  they 
are  not  essential  to  its  effects.  On  the  contrary,  the  unities 
sometimes  may  interfere  with  these.  To  prove  the  fact, 
one  need  merely  take  up  almost  any  drama  planned 


THE    UNITIES  IN    THE   DRAMA.  445 

according  to  the  Greek  model.  He  will  find  that,  usually, 
the  form  itself  necessitates  much  undramatic  narration, 
describing  previous  events  that  have  led  to  present  situa- 
tions. Otherwise  these  situations  will  not  be  understood. 
This  fact  suggests  what  seems  to  be  a  second  reason 
why  the  Greek  dramatists  regarded  so  sacredly  the  law  of 
the  unities,  viz.,  because  they  were  modelling  their 
dramas  after  a  form  natural  to  the  epic, — a  mistake,  which, 
though  slightly  different,  is  nevertheless  clearly  allied  to 
the  one  just  mentioned.  Goethe's  "  Iphigenia  in  Tauris," 
for  example,  reads  in  parts  more  like  an  epic  than  a 
drama,  and  the  narrative  form  of  the  one  has  a  very  dif- 
ferent effect  from  the  form  legitimate  to  the  other,  e.g.: 

But  hast  thou  since  thy  coming  here  done  naught  ? 
Who  hath  the  monarch's  gloomy  temper  cheered  ? 
Who  hath  with  gentle  eloquence  annulled 
From  year  to  year  the  usage  of  our  sires 
By  which,  a  victim  at  Diana's  shrine, 
Each  stranger  perished,  thus  from  certain  death 
Sending  so  oft  the  rescued  captive  home  ? 
Hath  not  Diana,  harboring  no  revenge 
For  this  suspension  of  her  bloody  rites, 
In  richest  measure  heard  thy  gentle  prayer? 
On  joyous  pinions  o'er  the  advancing  host 
Doth  not  triumphant  conquest  proudly  soar  ? 
And  feels  not  every  one  a  happier  lot 
Since  Thoas,  who  so  long  has  guided  us 
With  wisdom  and  with  valor,  swayed  by  thee, 
The  joy  of  mild  benignity  approves 
Which  leads  him  to  relax  the  rigid  claims 
Of  mute  submission, — 
Iphigenia  in  Tauris,  /.,  t.  ;   Goethe :  Sir  W.  Scoffs  Trans. 

In  order  to  turn  such  explanations  as  this  into  dramatic 
form,  they  must  be  represented  instead  of  narrated.  Yet 
the  moment  that  a  writer  attempts  to  represent  them,  in 


446      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

nine  cases  out  of  ten  he  must  violate  the  law  of  the 
unities.  This  is  a  fact  illustrated  clearly  by  the  methods 
chosen  by  those  who  gave  form  to  the  English  drama  of 
the  age  of  Elizabeth.  As  we  know,  there  is  little  in  their 
writings  to  suggest  conformity  to  this  law.  What  is  the 
reason  ?  Can  we  not  attribute  it  partly  to  the  fact  that 
England  had,  at  that  time,  no  great  painters  or  sculpt- 
ors ;  and  that  her  age  of  architecture,  after  having  ex- 
pended itself  almost  exclusively  upon  churches  and  palaces, 
and,  very  fortunately,  having  exerted  no  influence  at  all 
upon  places  of  amusement,  had  passed  ?  There  was  there- 
fore no  extensive  contemporary  interest  with  reference  to 
methods  employed  in  arts  other  than  the  drama,  and,  of 
course,  it  never  entered  into  the  mind  of  any  dramatist, 
any  more  than  into  that  of  Homer,  to  imitate  the  modes  of 
presentation  practised  in  paintings,  statues,  or  buildings. 
The  play-writer  thought  only  of  representing  words  and 
deeds  in  such  a  way  that  they  could  be  recognized  to  be 
natural  and  would  appeal  dramatically  to  those  who 
patronized  the  theatres.  No  wonder,  therefore,  that  the 
methods  of  the  English  drama  have,  in  every  country,  vir- 
tually supplanted  those  of  the  classic.  The  latter,  like 
Goethe's  "  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,"  may  contain  excellent 
dramatic  passages,  and,  for  the  sake  of  these,  many  may  be 
willing  to  sit  through  the  intervening  explanations.  But 
people  in  general  have  less  patience.  In  a  drama  the  only 
unity  that,  as  a  rule,  they  really  desire  is  dramatic. 

Another  illustration  from  the  realm  of  poetry.  In  speak- 
ing of  the  plan  of  his  "  Excursion,"  Wordsworth,  in  sev- 
eral places,  tells  us  that  his  conception  of  it  was  that  of  a 
cathedral  to  which  his  minor  poems  should  stand  related 
like  chapels  opening  from  the  aisles.  In  other  words,  he 
acknowledges  that  a  method  of  thought  or  expression  not 


ARCHITECTURAL   METHOD  IN  POETRY.  447 

natural  to  poetry,  but  to  another  art,  an  art,  too,  necessi- 
tating a  body  filling  space,  was  present  to  his  mind  when 
considering  the  general  form  of  his  poem.  So  far  as  this 
method  had  influence,  his  motive,  therefore,  was  that  not 
of  the  poet  but  of  the  architect.  A  poem  modelled  after 
a  cathedral !  One  might  as  well  talk  of  a  picture  modelled 
after  a  symphony,  or  a  statue  after  a  running  stream.  To 
be  sure,  if  the  stream  were  frozen  stiff,  and  so  far  lifeless, 
the  statue  might  image  it.  Only  so  far  as  thought  were 
in  a  similar  condition  could  a  poem  that  was  really  like  a 
cathedral,  embody  it. 

Analogous  criticisms  might  be  made  with  reference  to 
many  other  of  our  English  poems.  Crabbe's  "  Borough," 
Cowper's  "  Task,"  and  Thomson's  "  Seasons,"  are  modelled 
apparently  upon  the  methods  of  a  man  who  is  preparing 
a  set  of  village  photographs  or  a  country  guide-book.  As 
a  result,  notwithstanding  many  admirable  passages,  who 
does  not  feel  that,  considered  as  wholes,  the  poems  are  inar- 
tistic? Or,  as  contrasted  with  them,  who  does  not  feel 
that  works  like  Scott's  "  Marmion,"  Byron's  "  Corsair," 
and  Bulwer's  "  Lucile,"  however  deficient  in  passages, 
nevertheless,  considered  as  wholes,  are  artistic  ?  But  what 
is  the  essential  difference  between  the  poetry  represented 
by  these  two  classes  of  products?  Not  merely  that  the 
former  are  didactic  and  naturalistic,  and  the  latter  narra- 
tive. Scott  abounds  in  history  and  description,  and 
Crabbe  in  anecdotes.  The  difference  lies  in  the  fact  that 
while,  as  a  rule,  poets  like  Scott  portray  actions  in  such 
ways  that  the  successive  events  described  keep  pace  with 
the  movement  of  thought,  even  if  they  do  not  lead  it 
onward,  poets  like  Crabbe  portray  actions,  if  at  all,  as  if 
stopping  often,  with  pencil  in  hand,  to  sketch  in  detail,  or 
explain  and  elaborate  the  scenes  observed.  While  doing 


448      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

so,  the  descriptions,  of  course,  fail  to  keep  pace  with  the 
movement  of  thought.  Hazlitt's  criticism  on  Words- 
worth's "  Excursion  "  might  be  applied  to  all  of  them. 
**  It  is  more  than  anything  in  the  world  like  Robinson 
Crusoe's  boat,  which  would  have  been  an  excellent  good 
boat,  and  would  have  carried  him  to  the  other  side  of  the 
globe,  but  that  it  could  not  get  out  of  the  sand  where  it 
stuck  fast." 

To  observe  this  effect  of  lack  of  movement,  notice  the 
passage  from  the  "  Excursion  "  in  which  a  cathedral  is 
described.  The  reader  can  judge  for  himself  how  far  the 
story,  the  movement,  the  animation  of  the  poem,  is  in 
danger  of  standing  still,  in  order  to  give  place  or  rather 
space  for  such  descriptions ;  as  well  as  how  far  they  are 
more  appropriate  for  a  guide-book,  or  a  report  to  be 
handed  to  an  architect,  painter,  or  antiquary,  than  for  any 
other  purpose. 

As  chanced,  the  portals  of  the  sacred  Pile 

Stood  open  ;  and  we  entered.     On  my  frame, 

At  such  transition  from  the  fervid  air, 

A  grateful  coolness  fell,  that  seemed  to  strike 

The  heart  in  .concert  with  that  temperate  awe 

And  natural  reverence  which  the  place  inspired. 

Not  raised  in  nice  proportions  was  the  Pile, 

But  large  and  massy,  for  duration  built  ; 

With  pillars  crowded  and  the  roof  upheld 

By  naked  rafters  intricately  crossed 

Like  leafless  underboughs  in  some  thick  wood 

All  withered  by  the  depth  of  shade  above. 

Admonitory  texts  inscribed  the  walls, 

Each  in  its  ornamental  scroll  inclosed  ; 

Each  also  crowned  with  winged  heads, — a  pair 

Of  rudely  painted  cherubim.     The  floor 

Of  nave  and  aisle,  in  unpretending  guise, 

Was  occupied  by  oaken  benches  ranged 

In  seemly  rows  ;  the  chancel  only  showed 


POETRY  INFLUENCED  BY  THE  PAINTER' S  MOTIVE  449 

Some  vain  distinctions,  marks  of  earthly  state 

A  capacious  pew 

Of  sculptured  oak  stood  here,  with  drapery  lined  ; 
And  marble  monuments  were  here  displayed 
Thronging  the  walls  ;  and  on  the  floor  beneath, 
Sepulchral  stones  appeared,  with  emblems  graven, 
And  foot-worn  epitaphs,  and  some  with  small 
And  shining  epitaphs  of  brass  inlaid. 

Excursion,  v.  :    Wordsworth. 

Some  of  Wordsworth's  descriptions  of  natural  scenery 
have  the  same  characteristics.  For  instance,  in  the  follow- 
ing, how  essentially  the  poet  is  conceiving  of  nature  as  so 
much  space  which  he  must  divide  into  distinct  portions; 
how  evidently  he  is  thinking  of  the  way  in  which  a  painter 
would  divide  off  his  canvas  in  order  to  reproduce  the 
scene ! 

— A  point  that  showed  the  valley,  stretched 
In  length  before  us  ;  and  not  distant  far, 
Upon  a  rising  ground,  a  grey  church  tower, 
Whose  battlements  were  screened  by  tufted  trees. 
And  towards  a  crystal  mere  that  lay  beyond 
Among  steep  hills  and  woods  embosomed,  flowed 
A  copious  stream  with  boldly  winding  course  ; 
Here  traceable,  there  hidden, — there  again 
To  sight  restored  and  glittering  in  the  sun. 
On  the  stream's  bank  and  everywhere,  appeared 
Fair  dwellings,  single,  or  in  social  knots  ; 
Some  scattered  o'er  the  level,  others  perched 
On  the  hillsides,  a  cheerful,  quiet  scene 
Now  in  its  morning  purity  arrayed. 

Excursion,  v.  :    Wordsworth. 

Here  are  other  descriptions  of  the  same  character: 

That  lonely  dwelling  stood  among  the  hills 
By  a  grey  mountain-stream  ;  just  elevate 
Above  the  winter  torrents  did  it  stand, 
Upon  a  craggy  bank.     An  orchard  slope 
Arose  behind.     .     .     .     The  narrow  vale  which  wound 
29 


•UNIVERSITY 


450      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

Among  the  hills,  was  grey  with  rocks  that  peered 

Above  its  shallow  soil  ;   the  mountain-side 

Was  loose  with  stones  bestrewn,  which  oftentimes 

Clattered  adown  the  steep,  beneath  the  foot 

Of  struggling  goat  dislodged  ;  or  towered  with  crags. 

Madoc  in  Wales,  xiv.  :  Southey. 

'  T  was  a  spot 

Herself  had  chosen,  from  the  palace  walls 
Farthest  removed,  and  by  no  sound  disturbed, 
And  by  no  eye  o'erlooked  ;  for  in  the  midst 
Of  loftiest  trees  umbrageous,  was  it  hid. 
Yet  to  the  sunshine  open,  and  the  airs 
That  from  the  deep  shades  all  around  it  breathed 
Cool  and  sweet-scented.     .     .     . 

To  a  graceful  arch 
The  pliant  branches,  intertwined,  were  bent  ; 

.     .     .     .     With  fragrant  moss  the  floor 
Was  planted,  to  the  foot  a  carpet  rich, 
Or  for  the  languid  limbs  a  downy  couch, 
Inviting  slumber. 

Fall  of  Nineveh  :  Ather stone. 

With  these  lines,  let  us  now  contrast  two  description3 
from  Tennyson.  Notice  how  little  there  is  in  them  which 
a  painter  could  reproduce  with  accuracy  ;  and  this  because 
the  motive  to  expression,  although  influenced  by  certain 
scenes  to  which  allusion  is  made,  is  not  that  of  the  painter 
but  that  of  the  poet.  In  each  the  movement  of  thought 
is  the  main  object  of  representation.  We  hear  of  a  court 
and  a  sunset ;  but  we  scarcely  do  so  before  other  things 
are  so  crowded  upon  attention  as  to  obviate  at  once  any 
suggestion  of  a  desire  to  delineate  outlines  as  they  appear 
in  space. 

There  rose 

A  hubbub  in  the  court  of  half  the  maids 
Gathered  together  ;  from  the  illumined  hall, 
Long  lanes  of  splendor  slanted  o'er  the  press 
Of  snowy  shoulders,  thick  as  herded  ewes, 


POE  TRY  NOT  INFL  UENCED  B  Y  PAINTER'S  MO  TIVE  45 1 

And  rainbow  robes  and  gems  and  gem-like  eyes, 

And  gold  and  golden  heads  ;  they  to  and  fro 

Fluctuated,  as  flowers  in  storm,  some  red,  some  pale, 

All  open-mouthed,  all  gazing  to  the  light, 

Some  crying  there  was  an  army  in  the  land, 

And  some,  that  men  were  in  the  very  walls, 

And  some,  they  cared  not,  till  a  clamor  grew 

As  of  a  new-world  Babel,  woman-built, 

And  worse-confounded  ;  high  above  them  stood 

The  placid  marble  Muses  looking  peace. 

The  Princess  :   Tennyson. 

The  charmed  sunset  lingered  low  adown 

In  the  red  West ;  through  mountain  clefts  the  dale 

Was  seen  far  inland,  and  the  yellow  down 

Bordered  with  palm,  and  many  a  winding  vale 

And  meadow  set  with  slender  galingale  ; 

A  land  where  all  things  always  seemed  the  same  I 

And  round  about  the  keel  with  faces  pale, 

Dark  faces  pale  against  that  rosy  flame, 

The  mild-eyed,  melancholy  Lotus-eaters  came. 

The  Lotus-Eaters  :   Tennyson. 

Two  more  quotations  will  illustrate  the  possibility  of 
describing  a  scene  without  enough  movement  even  when 
in  itself  it  involves  movement.  For  the  same  reason  they 
will  show  still  more  clearly  than  any  quotations  that  have 
preceded  them,  the  poet's  liability,  even  when  circum- 
stances do  not  seem  to  favor  it,  to  follow  the  methods 
of  the  painter.  In  the  first  quotation,  notice  the  accuracy 
and  minuteness  of  the  descriptions — descriptions  that  can- 
not, by  any  stretch  of  imagination,  be  supposed  to  repre- 
sent what  a  person  interested  in  all  the  series  of  events 
transpiring,  would  be  able  to  observe.  The  minuteness  is 
conceivable  on  only  the  supposition  that  the  observer 
intends  afterwards  to  make  something,  or  to  paint  some- 
thing, precisely  like  some  one  object  seen,  which  therefore 
he  has  examined  with  special  attention.  In  other  words, 


452      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

the  description  is  not  a  natural  representation  of  the 
movement  of  thought  in  the  mind  of  a  poet.  Notice, 
too,  that  during  all  the  time  that  the  writer  is  explaining 
the  details,  his  story  stands  still : 

And  lo  !  the  gorgeous  pageant  like  the  sun 

Flares  on  their  startled  eyes.     Four  snow-white  steeds 

In  golden  trappings,  barbed  all  in  gold, 

Spring  through  the  gate  ;  the  lofty  chariot  then, 

Of  ebony,  with  gold  and  gems  thick  strewn, 

Even  like  the  starry  night.     The  spokes  were  gold, 

With  fetters  of  strong  brass  ; 

The  idea  of  his  being  able  at  a  glance  to  detect  the  differ- 
ence between  gold  and  brass  ! 

the  naves  were  brass 

With  burnished  gold  o'erlaid,  and  diamond  rimmed  ; 
Steel  were  the  axles  in  bright  silver  case  ; 
The  pole  was  cased  in  silver  ;  high  aloft, 
Like  a  rich  throne,  the  gorgeous  seat  was  framed, 
Of  ivory  part,  part  silver  and  part  gold  ; 
On  either  side,  a  golden  statue  stood  ; 
Upon  the  right,  and  on  a  throne  of  gold, 
Great  Belus,  of  the  Assyrian  empire  first, 
And  worshipped  as  a  god  ;  but,  on  the  left, 
In  a  resplendent  car  by  lions  drawn, 
A  goddess — 

The  Fall  of  Nineveh  :  A  ther stone. 

The  other  passage  is  a  description  of  something  very 
similar,  by  Shelley.  But  following  the  delicate  poetic  in- 
stincts of  his  nature,  the  writer  reveals  hardly  a  suggestion 
of  a  painter's  view-point. 

Hark  !  whence  that  rushing  sound? 
'T  is  like  the  wondrous  strain 
That  round  a  lonely  ruin  swells 
Which,  wandering  on  the  echoing  shore, 


POETIC  REPRESENTATION.  453 

The  enthusiast  hears  at  evening  ; 

'  T  is  softer  than  the  west  wind's  sigh  ; 

'  T  is  wilder  than  the  unmeasured  notes 

Of  that  strange  lyre  whose  strings 

The  genii  of  the  breezes  sweep  ; 

Those  lines  of  rainbow  light 

Are  like  the  moonbeams  when  they  fall 

Through  some  cathedral  window,  but  the  tints 

Are  such  as  may  not  find 

Comparison  on  earth. 

Behold  the  chariot  of  the  Fairy  Queen  ! 
Celestial  coursers  paw  the  unyielding  air  ; 
Their  filmy  pennons  at  her  word  they  furl, 
And  stop  obedient  to  the  reins  of  light. 
These  the  Queen  of  Spells  drew  in, 
She  spread  a  charm  around  the  spot, 
And  leaning  graceful  from  the  etherial  car, 
Long  did  she  gaze  and  silently 
Upon  the  slumbering  maid. 

Queen  Mab  :  Shelley. 

Of  course,  in  the  movement  of  a  poem  there  may  be 
many  different  degrees  of  rapidity.  In  the  lyric  the 
thought  may  rush  through  its  course  like  a  mountain  cat- 
aract, and  in  the  epic  may  advance  slowly  and  grandly  as 
a  river  near  the  ocean ;  but,  in  either  case,  the  evolution 
of  the  ideas  should  be  the  principal  thing,  and  the  descrip- 
tive details  subordinate,  while  all  together  should  repre- 
sent movement. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

SIGNIFICANCE  MAINLY  ATTRIBUTABLE  TO  THE  ELEMENTS 
OF  ART-FORM  IN  TIME  ALONE,  AS  DIFFERENTLY  REP- 
RESENTED IN  POETRY,  MUSIC,  AND  ORATORY. 

Definite  Thought  as  Expressed  in  Poetic  Words,  and  Indefinite  Emotion  in 
Musical  Tones — Words  Cause  Imagination  to  See  as  well  as  to  Hear 
what  is  Referred  to — Poetry  of  the  Highest  Order  Presents  a  Vision 
of  an  Ideal  Realm — Even  when  Describing  Objects  Vague  in  Them- 
selves— Lack  of  these  Effects  in  that  Poetry  which  Subordinates  the 
Verbal  to  the  Musical — Such  Poetry  Common  in  our  Own  Day — And 
does  not  Exert  the  Legitimate  Influence  of  Poetry — Contrast  between 
Tennyson  and  Byron — Reasons  why  Foreigners  Prefer  the  Latter — 
Comment  on  Byron's  Methods — Explanations — Expression  Appropriate 
for  Musical  Tones — Printed  Explanations  of  Scenery  Accompanying 
Musical  Compositions  no  Proof  that  Limitations  of  this  Form  of  Ex- 
pression should  not  be  Recognized — Pleasure  from  Musical  Effects  is 
Independent  of  these  Explanations — And  of  the  Words  and  Acting  in 
Ballads  and  Operas — As  Shown  by  Various  Facts  with  Reference  to 
Lovers  of  Music — Expression  in  Oratory  as  Limited  on  its  Poetic  or 
Musical  Side — And  on  its  Picturesque  Side. 

A  S  indicated  in  the  preceding  chapter,  Lessing,  in  his 
"  Laocoon,"  did  a  permanent  service  for  sound 
criticism  by  distinguishing  the  method  of  representation 
in  poetry  from  that  in  painting  and  in  sculpture.  In  this 
chapter  it  will  be  shown  that,  owing  largely  to  new  devel- 
opments in  both  arts,  it  is  now  of  equal  importance  to 
distinguish  the  methods  of  poetry  from  those  of  music. 
On  page  434  it  was  pointed  out  that  the  differences  be- 
tween sounds  and  sights,  while  greater  in  degree,  are  no 
less  actual  than  between  kinds  of  sounds.  The  effects  of 

454 


POETIC    VERSUS  MUSICAL   REPRESENTATION.      455 

poetry  are  produced  by  articulated  words,  those  of  music, 
so  far  as  it  is  "  pure  music,"  by  unarticulated  tones.  Words 
represent  conceptions  of  which  the  mind  is  made  conscious 
through  definition,  and  which  are  therefore  sufficiently 
intelligible  to  be  clearly  distinguished.  Tones  represent 
conceptional  tendencies  of  which  the  mind  is  made  con- 
scious without  definition,  and  which,  therefore,  are  not 
always  sufficiently  intelligible  to  be  clearly  distinguished. 
See  Chapters  XVI.  to  XVIII.  of  "  Art  in  Theory." 

The  consequent  difference  between  the  effects  of  the 
two  arts,  whether  considered  as  produced  in  the  mind  or 
expressed  in  the  form,  is  this :  Both  influence  the  imagi- 
nation, and,  while  doing  so,  conjure  pictures  which  pass  in 
review  before  it ;  but  while  poetry  indicates  definitely 
what  these  pictures  shall  be,  music  leaves  the  mind  of  the 
listener  free  to  determine  this,  the  same  chords  inclining 
one  man,  perhaps,  to  think  of  his  business,  and  another  of 
his  recreation,  one  of  a  storm  at  sea,  and  another  of  a 
battle-field.  Now  notice  a  further  reason  for  this  differ- 
ence: Words  make  thought  definite  because  they  appeal 
to  the  imagination  as  is  done  through  the  sense  not  only 
of  hearing  but  also  of  sight  ;  and  this,  not  only  because 
they  can  be  printed  as  well  as  spoken,  but  because,  as  a 
rule,  they  refer  to  objects,  as  in  the  cases  of  hut,  farm, 
road,  and  horse  ;  or  to  actions,  as  in  the  cases  of  come,  go, 
stop,  and  hurry ;  or  to  other  conditions,  as  in  the  cases  of 
near,  far,  with,  and  by,  that  can  be  seen,  and  that  are  seen 
by  imagination  whenever  the  words  are  used.  Musical 
tones,  on  the  contrary,  appeal  to  imagination  almost  exclu- 
sively as  is  done  through  the  sense  of  hearing  irrespective 
of  sight.  This  is  a  difference  which  will  be  shown,  as  we  go 
on,  to  be  radical,  and  extremely  important.  The  effect 
of  words  in  causing  the  imagination  to  perceive  that  which 


456      REP  RE  SEN  TA  Tl  VE    SIGN  I  PICA  NCE    OF  FORM. 

is  mentioned,  may  be  observed  by  noticing  those  that  are 
italicized  in  the  following : 

Lost  in  the  labyrinth  of  thy  fury. 

Troilus  and  Cressida,  «.,  j»  .•  Shakespeare. 

Riveted, 
Screwed,  to  my  memory. 

Cymbeline,  «.,  2:  Idem. 

Thou  art  all  ice,  thy  kindness  freezes. 

Richard  III. ,  iv. ,  2  :  Idem. 

I  '11  queen  it  no  inch  further 
But  milk  my  ewes  and  weep. 

Winter's  Tale,  iv. ,  3  :  Idem. 

One  test  of  poetry  of  the  highest  order  is  that,  as  we  read 
it,  it  calls  attention  to  these  visible  objects.  Through 
doing  this,  the  lines  transport  us  into  a  realm  of  imagina- 
tion, and  this  not  of  our  own  making,  as  in  music,  but  of 
the  poet's  making.  So  far  as  he  fails  to  lift  us  into  this 
realm,  and  to  keep  us  in  it,  his  poetry  fails  of  one  of  its 
highest  possibilities.  Notice  in  the  following  how  clean- 
cut  and  concrete  every  figure  is,  how  it  stands  out  in 
relief,  rising  visually  before  the  mind,  the  moment  that 
the  words  are  heard  : 

Like  one  that  stands  upon  a  promontory, 

And  spies  a  far-off  shore  where  he  would  tread, 

Wishing  his  foot  were  equal  with  his  eye  ; 

And  chides  the  sea  that  sunders  him  from  thence. 

3  Henry  VI.,  Hi.,  2  :  Idem. 

New  honors  come  upon  him 

Like  our  strange  garments  ;  cleave  not  to  their  mould, 
But  with  the  aid  of  use. 

Macbeth,  *.,  j  .•  Idem. 

Ay,  marry  now,  my  soul  hath  elbow-room. 

King  John,  v.,  7  /  Idem. 


POETRY  MAKES  IMAGINATION  SEE.  457 

He  has  strangled 

His  language  in  his  tears. 

Henry  VIII.,  z/.,  i  :  Idem. 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden, 

In  a  dell  of  dew, 
Scattering  unbeholden 

Its  aerial  hue 
Among  the  flowers  and  grass  which  screen  it  from  the  view. 

To  the  Skylark  ;  Shelley. 

She  was  a  Phantom  of  delight 

When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight ; 

A  lovely  Apparition  sent 

To  be  a  moment's  ornament ; 

Her  eyes  as  stars  of  Twilight  fair  ; 

Like  twilight's  too  her  dusky  hair  ; 

But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 

From  Maytime  and  the  cheerful  Dawn  ; 

A  dancing  Shape,  an  Image  gay, 

To  haunt,  to  startle  and  waylay. 

She  was  a  Phantom  of  Delight :   Wordsworth. 

Her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat 
Like  little  mice,  stole  in  and  out, 

As  if  they  feared  the  light  ; 
But  O,  she  dances  such  a  way. 
No  sun  upon  an  Easter-day 

Is  half  so  fine  a  sight. 

A  Ballad  upon  a  Wedding  :  Sir  John  Suckling, 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail 

To  walk  the  studious  cloisters  pale, 

And  love  the  high  embowered  roof, 

With  antique  pillars  massy  proof, 

And  storied  windows  richly  dight, 

Casting  a  dim  religious  light : 

There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow, 

To  the  full  voiced  choir  below, 

In  service  high  and  anthems  clear, 

As  may  with  sweetness  through  mine  ear 

Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies. 

//  Penseroso  :  Milton. 


458      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 

And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day 
Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs, 

And  as  silently  steal  away. 

The  Day  is  Done  :  Longfellow. 

Art  is  long  and  time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 

Still  like  muffled  drums  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

The  Psalm  of  Life  :  Idem. 

These  last  two  stanzas  are  characteristic  of  Longfellow. 
Does  the  visual  effect  of  the  style  give  us  one  reason  for 
his  wide  popularity  ?  Observe  now  that  this  clean-cut, 
concrete  visualization  can  be  conjured  in  the  imagination 
even  by  a  description  of  something  which,  in  itself,  is  not 
clean-cut  or  concrete : 

The  other  shape, 

If  shape  it  might  be  called  that  shape  had  none 
Distinguishable  in  member,  joint,  or  limb, 
Or  substance  might  be  called  that  shadow  seemed, 
For  each  seemed  either  ;  black  it  stood  as  night, 
Fierce  as  ten  furies,  terrible  as  hell. 
And  shook  a  dreadful  dart  ;  what  seemed  his  head 
The  likeness  of  a  kingly  crown  had  on. 

Paradise  Lost,  ii.  ;  Milton. 

Then  saw  they  how  there  hove  a  dusky  barge, 

Dark  as  a  funeral  scarf  from  stem  to  stern. 

Beneath  them  ;  and  descending,  they  were  ware 

That  all  the  decks  were  dense  with  stately  forms, 

Black-stoled,  black-hooded,  like  a  dream, — by  these 

Three  Queens  with  crowns  of  gold, — and  from  them  rose 

A  cry  that  shivered  to  the  tingling  stars, 

And,  as  it  were  one  voice,  an  agony 

Of  lamentation,  like  a  wind  that  shrills 

All  night  in  a  waste  land,  where  no  one  comes, 

Or  hath  come  since  the  making  of  the  world. 

Morte  d'  Arthur  :   Tennyson. 


MUSICAL  POETRY  APPEALING  ONLY  TO   THE  EAR.    459 

With  these  quotations  in  mind,  let  us  examine  the  fol- 
lowing. As  we  read  them,  are  we  not  far  more  conscious 
of  certain  audible  sensations  of  great  delicacy  and  sweet- 
ness than  of  any  definite  and  distinct  pictures  rising,  one 
after  the  other,  into  consciousness  ;  and,  just  in  the  degree 
in  which  this  is  true,  is  it  not  a  fact  that  we  fail  to  be 
lifted  out  of  our  actual  visible  surroundings  into  that 
realm  of  the  imagination,  no  less  visible,  into  which  it 
seems  the  peculiar  function  of  poetry  of  the  highest  order 
to  transport  one? 

Round  thee  blow,  self-pleached  deep, 
Bramble  roses,  faint  and  pale, 
And  long  purples  of  the  dale. 

Let  them  rave. 
These  in  every  shower  creep 
Through  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

Let  them  rave. 

A  Dirge  :    Tennyson. 

A  slow-developed  strength  awaits 

Completion  in  a  painful  school ; 

Phantoms  of  other  forms  of  rule, 
New  Majesties  of  mighty  States — 

The  warders  of  the  growing  hour, 

But  vague  in  vapor,  hard  to  mark  ; 

And  round  them  sea  and  air  are  dark 
With  great  contrivances  of  Power. 

Of  many  changes,  aptly  joined, 

Is  bodied  forth  the  second  whole. 

Regard  gradation,  lest  the  soul 
Of  Discord  race  the  rising  wind. 

Love  thou  thy  Land  :  Idem. 

Praise  him,  O  winds  that  move  the  molten  air, 

O  light  of  days  that  were, 
And  light  of  days  that  shall  be  ;  land  and  sea, 

And  heaven  and  Italy  ; 


460      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

Praise  him,  O  storm  and  summer-shore  and  wave, 

O  skies  and  every  grave  ; 
O  weeping  hopes,  O  memories  beyond  tears, 

O  many  and  murmuring  years, 
O  sounds  far  off  in  time  and  visions  far, 

O  sorrow  with  thy  star  ; 
And  joy  with  all  thy  beacons  ;  ye  that  mourn, 

And  ye  whose  light  is  born  ; 
O  fallen  faces,  and  O  souls  arisen, 

Praise  him  from  tomb  and  prison. 

A  Song  of  Italy  :  Swinburne. 

The  following  is  not,  as  might  be  supposed,  a  part 
wrested  from  a  stanza  in  order  to  be  used  as  an  illustration. 
It  is  a  complete  stanza : 

So  much  we  lend,  indeed, 

Perforce,  by  force  of  need, 

So  much  we  must  ;  even  these  things  and  no  more, 
The  far  sea  sundering  and  the  sundered  shore 

A  world  apart  from  ours, 

So  much  the  imperious  hours, 
Exact  and  spare  not  ;  but  no  more  than  these 
All  earth  and  all  her  seas 

From  thought  and  faith  of  trust  and  truth  can  borrow, 
Not  memory  from  desire,  nor  hope  from  sorrow. 

A  Parting  Song  :  Idem. 

Notice  the  following  too, — a  remarkably  successful  de- 
scription, so  far  as  concerns  the  method  of  representation 
possible  to  sound  alone: 

And  gentler  the  wind  from  the  dreary 

Sea-banks  by  the  waves  overlapped, 
Being  weary,  speaks  peace  to  the  weary 

From  slopes  that  the  tide-stream  hath  sapped  ; 
And  sweeter  than  all  that  we  call  so 

The  seal  of  their  slumber  shall  be, 
Till  the  graves  that  embosom  them  also 

Be  sapped  of  the  sea. 

By  the  North  Sea  :  Idem. 


MUSICAL   POETRY   OF    THE   PRESENT.  461 

In  our  own  day,  the  general  effects  of  this  kind  of  verse 
are  exceedingly  familiar  and  popular.  It  is  not  too  much 
to  say  that  its  cadences  so  ring  in  the  ear  that,  in  the 
opinion  of  some,  new  verse  that  fails  to  echo  them  almost 
fails  to  manifest  any  poetry  at  all.  Indeed,  in  their  minds, 
the  distinctively  poetical  is  confounded  with  this  style, 
almost  as  completely  as  in  the  days  of  Pope  it  was  con- 
founded with  the  balance  of  rhythm  in  lines  like  the 
following  : 

Where  small  and  great,  where  weak  and  mighty,  made 

To  serve  not  suffer,  strengthen  not  invade  ; 

More  powerful  each  as  needful  to  the  rest, 

And,  in  proportion  as  it  blesses,  blest  ; 

Draw  to  one  point,  and  to  one  centre  bring 

Beast,  man,  or  angel,  servant,  lord,  or  king. 

Essay  on  Man,  Hi.  :  Pope. 

This  balance  of  rhythm,  however,  is  now  recognized  to 
have  been  artificial  and  inartistic.  Is  it  possible  that  our 
own  frequent  subordination  of  all  other  poetic  effects  to 
the  musical  may  be  the  same?  Of  course  it  is  not  recog- 
nized to  be  so  by  our  popular  critics.  The  style  of  Pope 
was  not  recognized  to  be  what  it  was  by  their  representa- 
tives of  his  day.  Popular  critics,  like  other  popular  people, 
give  voice  to  popular  opinion.  They  are  on  the  crest  of 
its  wave  for  the  very  reason  that  they  have  the  full  sup- 
port of  the  opinion  that  is  about  and  below  them.  For 
this  reason,  paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  those  esteemed 
the  best  critics  of  an  age  are  often  its  worst  critics.  Nor, 
as  applied  to  poetry,  has  this  fact  in  our  own  times  been 
otherwise  than  detrimental.  "  When  I  get  my  girls 
together  and  try  to  read  to  them,"  said  a  friend  of  the 
author,  referring  to  his  three  daughters,  all  Eastern  college 
students,  "  the  only  expression  in  which  all  universally 


462      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

join  is,  '  Don't  read  poetry.'  Now  you  and  I,"  he  went  on, 
"when  we  were  young,  would  have  preferred  poetry. 
Why  don't  the  young  of  to-day  prefer  it  ?  "  Such  a  ques- 
tion usually  suggests  a  homily  about  its  being  a  scientific 
age.  The  homily  may  have  relevance,  but  it  does  not  deal 
with  the  sole  reason  for  the  result,  nor  with  the  one  most 
important.  Science  and  art  are  different,  and  they  satisfy 
different  mental  cravings,  one  demanding  stimulus  for 
knowledge  and  the  other  for  imagination.  Nor  was  there 
ever  a  time  when  the  normal  mind  did  not  demand  both. 
To  suppose  that  it  can  be  satisfied  with  one  of  them  is 
like  supposing  that  thirst  can  be  assuaged  by  giving  food. 
If  anything  have  taken  the  place  of  the  poem,  it  is  more 
likely  to  be  the  novel,  which,  like  it,  appeals  to  the  imag- 
ination. But  why  should  the  novel  take  the  place  of  the 
poem  ?  What  imaginative  effect  attends  it  that  was  for- 
merly produced  by  poetry,  and  which,  apparently,  modern 
poetry  does  not  produce?  This  can  be  best  answered, 
perhaps,  by  mentioning  another  "  modern  instance." 

At  an  evening  gathering,  a  professor  of  literature  had 
been  reading  and  explaining  some  of  Tennyson's  poems. 
Later  in  the  evening,  a  retired  banker,  a  college  graduate 
and  an  omnivorous  reader,  said  to  him,  "That  kind  of 
poetry  is  all  very  fine,  but  it  is  too  fine  for  me.  When  I 
want  poetry,  I  read  Byron,"  to  which  remark  he  added  in 
an  undertone  a  phrase  or  two  about  the  lurid  light  in  front 
of  which,  according  to  him,  Byron  was  accustomed  to  ar- 
range his  characters  in  relief.  This  comment  conforms 
in  spirit  to  that  which  an  unprejudiced  mind  must  ac- 
knowledge to  represent  the  best  critical  judgment  of 
continental  Europe.  As  a  rule,  its  writers  and  scholars  fail 
to  assign  as  high  rank  to  the  poetry  of  Tennyson  and  his 
school  as  do  the  English  and  our  own  people.  Probably 


TENNYSON    VERSUS  BYRON.  463 

many  of  us  who  are  enthusiastic  admirers  of  Tenny- 
son can  recall  foreign  friends,  given  to  literary  criticism, 
with  whom  we  have  had  long  controversies  on  this  sub- 
ject. It  would  not  be  accurate  to  say  that  the  poet  con- 
trasted with  Tennyson  is  always  Byron.  It  can  only  be 
affirmed  that,  as  a  rule,  the  English  poetry  for  which  they 
express  preference,  is  of  a  kind  affording  certain  contrasts 
to  that  of  the  great  laureate  ;  and  that,  if  Byron  be  men- 
tioned at  all,  he  is  mentioned  in  superlatives.  Now  is 
there  any  need  of  arguing  about  what  is  the  reason  for 
this  ?  Is  it  not  because  Tennyson  and  writers  of  his 
school  depend  so  largely  upon  musical  effects?  These 
effects  are  either,  as  in  those  on  page  459,  entirely  sub- 
stituted for  visual  effects,  or  are  allowed  to  overbalance 
the  visual  to  such  an  extent  as  to  obscure  them,  especially 
to  the  mind  of  a  foreigner  too  unaccustomed  to  either  the 
sounds  or  the  associations  of  English  words  for  them  to 
reveal  to  him  their  subtlest  suggestions.  In  other  words, 
the  outlines  of  this  style  of  poetry  are  not  large  enough 
or  broad  enough  for  him  ;  not  like  those  of  Shakespeare, 
or  of  Byron,  for  instance,  as  illustrated  in  the  following : 

'T  is  midnight.     On  the  mountains  brown 
The  cold  round  moon  shines  deeply  down  ; 
Blue  roll  the  waters,  blue  the  sky 
Spreads  like  an  ocean  hung  on  high, 
Bespangled  with  those  isles  of  light, 
So  wildly,  spiritually  bright  ; 
Who  ever  gazed  upon  them  shining, 
And  turned  to  earth  without  repining  ? 

The  Siege  of  Corinth  :  Byron. 

Up  rose  the  Dervise  with  that  burst  of  light, 
Nor  less  his  change  of  form  appalled  the  sight : 
Up  rose  that  Dervise — not  in  saintly  garb, 
But  like  a  warrior  bounding  on  his  barb, 


464      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

Dashed  his  high  cap,  and  tore  his  robe  away — 

Shone  his  mailed  breast  and  flashed  his  sabre's  ray  ! 

His  close  but  glittering  casque,  and  sable  plume, 

More  glittering  eye,  and  black  brow's  sabler  gloom, 

Glared  on  the  Moslem's  eyes  some  Afrit  sprite, 

Whose  demon  death-blow  left  no  hope  for  fight. 

The  wild  confusion,  and  the  swarthy  glow 

Of  flames  on  high,  and  torches  from  below  ; 

The  shriek  of  terror,  and  the  mingling  yell — 

For  swords  began  to  clash  and  shouts  to  swell — 

Flung  o'er  that  spot  of  earth  the  air  of  hell ! 

Distracted,  to  and  fro,  the  flying  slaves 

Behold  but- bloody  shore  and  fiery  waves  ; 

Nought  heeded  they  the  Pasha's  angry  cry 

They  seize  that  Dervise  ! — seize  on  Zatanai  ! 

He  saw  their  terror — checked  the  first  despair 

That  urged  him  but  to  stand  and  perish  there, 

Since  far  too  early  and  too  well  obeyed, 

The  flame  was  kindled  ere  the  signal  made  ; 

He  saw  their  terror — from  his  baldric  drew 

His  bugle — brief  the  blast — but  shrilly  blew  ; 

'T  is  answered — "  Well  ye  speed,  my  gallant  crew  ! 

Why  did  I  doubt  their  quickness  of  career  ? 

And  deem  design  had  left  me  single  here  ?  " 

Sweeps  his  long  arm — that  sabre's  whirling  sway 

Sheds  fast  atonement  for  its  first  delay  ; 

Completes  his  fury  what  their  fear  begun, 

And  makes  the  many  basely  quail  to  one. 

The  cloven  turbans  o'er  the  chamber  spread, 

And  scarce  an  arm  dare  rise  to  guard  its  head  : 

Even  Seyd,  convulsed,  o'erwhelmed  with  rage,  surprise, 

Retreats  before  him,  though  he  still  defies. 

No  craven  he — and  yet  he  dreads  the  blow, 

So  much  Confusion  magnifies  his  foe  ! 

His  blazing  galleys  still  distract  his  sight, 

He  tore  his  beard,  and,  foaming,  fled  the  fight; 

For  now  the  pirates  pass'd  the  Harem  gate, 

And  burst  within — and  it  were  death  to  wait  ; 

Where  wild  Amazement  shrieking — kneeling — throws 

The  sword  aside — in  vain — the  blood  o'erflows! 

The  Corsairs,  pouring,  haste  to  where  within 


'S  POETRY.  465 

Invited  Conrad's  bugle,  and  the  din 

Of  groaning  victims,  and  wild  cries  for  life, 

Proclaimed  how  well  he  did  the  work  of  strife. 

They  shout  to  find  him  grim  and  lonely  there, 

A  glutted  tiger  mangling  in  his  lair  ! 

But  short  their  greeting — shorter  his  reply — 

"  'T  is  well — but  Seyd  escapes — and  he  must  die — 

Much  hath  been  done — but  more  remains  to  do — 

Their  galleys  blaze — why  not  their  city  too  ?  " 

The  Corsair  :  Byron. 

Byron's  poetry,  with  its  abrupt,  if  not  ungrammatical, 
transitions  of  tense,  its  inharmonious  successions  of  sylla- 
bles, and  its  inaccuracies  of  diction,1  the  German  critics 
prefer  to  the  poetry  of  Tennyson.  If  we  ourselves  do  not 
prefer  it,  would  it  not,  at  least,  be  wise  for  us  to  try  to 
perceive  why  others  should  do  so,  and  to  ask  ourselves 
whether  this  style  does  not  meet  a  legitimate  imaginative 
demand  which  the  poetry  of  our  own  time  is  neglecting? 
In  this  age  there  is  no  great  danger  that  any  large  num- 
ber will  give  to  the  English  poetry  of  the  early  part  of 
this  century,  of  which,  perhaps,  Byron  is  the  foremost 
representative,  the  supreme  literary  homage  once  accorded 
it.  But  let  us  not  go  to  the  opposite  extreme.  Let  us 
acknowledge  that  the  artistic  possibilities  of  many  of  our 
younger  poets  might  be  greatly  broadened  by  giving 
to  this  poetry  a  certain  amount  of  very  cordial  literary 
recognition. 

In  this  book  we  are  considering  the  representative 
effects  of  poetry  and  of  music  for  no  other  purpose  than 
to  distinguish  them  from  one  another.  Those  who  wish 
to  study  the  manner  in  which  effects  in  each  of  these  arts 

1  Notice  "behold  .  .  .  nought  heeded,"  "  completes  his  fury  what 
their  fears  begun,"  "spread  .  .  .  dare  rise,"  "distract  his  sight,  He 
tore,"  and  "  career,"  in  the  above. 

3° 


466      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

may  be  represented  in  each  detail  of  form,  will  find  the 
subject  amply  discussed  in  the  volume  of  this  series  en- 
titled "  Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,"  and  in  the  essay 
upon  "  Music  as  a  Representative  Art,"  which  latter  is 
printed  in  the  volume  entitled  "  Rhythm  and  Harmony 
in  Poetry  and  Music." 

It  follows  from  what  has  been  said  that,  as  distinguished 
from  poetry,  music  should  be  representative  of  only  such 
indefinite  and  emotive  mental  effects  as  can  be  expressed 
in  unarticulated  sounds.  This  inference  suggests,  at  once, 
a  reason  for  certain  well-known  facts  with  reference  to 
the  effects  of  this  art.  It  shows  us,  for  instance,  why  the 
music  invariably  conceded  to  rank  highest  is  instrumental; 
is — to  quote  the  words  of  Mr.  Dwight,  late  editor  of  "  The 
Journal  of  Music" — "pure  music,  which  lives  and  moves 
in  purely  musical  ideas"  ;  and  again,  it  shows  us  why  it  is 
that  all  men,  well-nigh  with  unanimity,  recognize  a  super- 
lative sweetness  in  the  midnight  serenade.  In  both  cases 
there  is  experienced  a  distinctive  effect  of  sound,  and  of 
this  only.  In  connection  with  the  former,  there  is  no 
distraction  from  words  ;  in  connection  with  the  latter,  none 
from  sights. 

Of  course,  some  other  facts  apparently  controverting 
this  principle  may  be  instanced.  There  is  a  certain  style 
of  instrumental  music,  especially  among  the  Germans, 
which,  to  draw  our  inferences  from  explanations  printed 
on  programs,  seems  to  be  the  embodiment  of  phases  of 
thought  which  can  be  appropriately  expressed  in  poetry 
also,  and  even  in  painting.  It  seems  to  be  distinctly 
stated  in  connection  with  certain  of  these  compositions, 
as  of  some,  for  instance,  of  Liszt,  that  they  represent 
poems,  and  of  others,  as  of  the  Pastoral  Symphonies 
of  Beethoven  and  Haydn,  that  they  represent  scenes 


MUSICAL    VERSUS  POETIC  EFFECTS.  467 

in  nature.  It  is  a  question,  however,  whether  we  are 
not  doing  an  injustice  to  the  composers  of  such  music 
when  we  infer  that  their  so-called  explanations  are  in- 
tended to  imply  that  the  phase  of  significance  repre- 
sented might  be  as  well  expressed  in  poetry  or  in 
painting.  Would  the  authors  of  these  compositions  ad- 
mit that  their  works  are  imitative  merely,  or  imitative 
at  all  in  any  slavish  sense?  Do  the  explanations  imply 
any  more  than  this, —  that  the  compositions  to  which  they 
refer  are  musical  developments  representative  of  natural 
conditions  analogous  to  such  as,  in  certain  circumstances, 
which  are  not  those  actually  realized,  might  be  expressed, 
but  differently  expressed,  in  poetry  or  in  painting?  If  this 
be  the  true  meaning  of  the  composers,  then  they  desire 
merely  to  explain  their  work,  as  all  admit  that  they  can 
do  legitimately,  according  to  the  methods,  as  we  might 
term  them,  of  comparative  aesthetics  ;  and  if  this  be  so, 
their  compositions  involve  no  violation  of  the  principle 
here  unfolded.  No  attempt  is  made  in  them  at  repre- 
sentation in  a  manner  appropriate  only  in  poetry  or  in 
painting.  Their  composers  have  merely  indicated  the  ex- 
istence of  relationships,  which,  in  other  conditions,  or  with 
a  different  development,  might  be  differently  represented. 
Again,  judging  this  style  of  music  from  its  effects,  as 
we  ourselves  experience  them,  let  those  of  us  who  can 
analyze  the  sources  of  our  enjoyment  of  it  inquire 
whether  we  are  pleased  with  this  or  that  composition  be- 
cause it  is  an  imitation — /'.  e.,  because  it  sounds  so  much 
like  the  roaring  of  a  storm,  the  rustling  of  a  forest,  or  the 
bleating  of  sheep ;  or,  because,  aside  from  any  resem- 
blances to  other  things,  from  any  connections  with  sub- 
jects that  might  be  depicted  or  described  in  other  ways, 
the  composition  is  enjoyable  in  itself,  on  account  solely  of 


468      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

the  way  in  which,  starting  with  a  theme  suggested  by 
some  sound  in  nature,  the  melodies  and  harmonies  have 
been  developed,  one  after  another,  according  to  those 
strictly  musical  methods  which  cause  the  whole  to  be 
music  and  not  something  else.  Or  suppose  that  in  any 
given  product  we  really  take  delight,  and  our  main  delight 
too,  in  the  imitation,  let  us  ask  ourselves  again  whether  we 
take  delight  in  the  imitation  for  its  evidences  of  ingenuity, 
or  for  the  musical  sweetness  and  beauty  which  this  imita- 
tion has  succeeded  in  bringing  to  our  notice.  A  few  such 
questions  will  probably  convince  us  that  the  aesthetic 
effect,  which  is  alone  the  legitimate  effect  of  art,  is  always 
produced  in  the  degree  in  which  a  musical  composition  is 
an  expression  of  something  distinctively  musical. 

Again,  the  ballad  or  the  opera  may  be  instanced  as 
controverting  the  principle  that  we  are  considering.  But 
can  it  be  said  that  these  prove  that  the  highest  style  of 
music  is  dependent  for  success  upon  the  words  or  actions 
of  a  performer  of  it?  With  some  persons,  of  course,  it  is. 
But  let  us  recall  that  songs  and  operas  are  often  enjoyed 
immensely  by  persons  to  whom  music  as  music  is  a 
sealed  art.  Their  pleasure  in  the  song  is  similar  to  that 
which  attends  the  utterance  of  very  rhythmical  poetry  ; 
and  in  the  opera,  the  gaudy  playhouse,  the  gayly  dressed 
people,  the  glittering  stage,  and  the  movements  of  the 
actors  are  all  entertaining  on  their  own  accounts.  A  real 
musician,  however,  frequently  regards  everything  of  this 
sort  as  a  distraction  ;  and  he  enjoys  the  music  connected 
with  it  just  as  much  —  sometimes  more  —  when  the  words 
used  on  the  stage  are  in  a  foreign  language  which  he  does 
not  understand,  or  when  the  harmony  is  played,  apart 
from  either  words  or  scenery,  by  an  orchestra  in  a  concert 
room.  It  is  true,  of  course,  as  brought  out  in  Chapter 


EFFECTS   OF   OPERA  TIC  MUSIC.  469 

XIII.  of  "Art  in  Theory,"  that,  up  to  a  certain  point, — 
the  point  where  the  mind  ceases  to  be  able  to  grasp  all  the 
component  factors  involved,  —  complexity  in  connection 
with  harmony  augments  the  aesthetic  effect.  This  may 
be  so  even  when  the  factors  belong  to  different  arts,  as 
when  to  the  effects  of  melody  are  added,  first,  those  of 
harmony,  then  of  poetry,  then  of  acting,  then  of  dan- 
cing, then  of  painting,  then  of  sculpture,  and  then  of 
architecture  ;  and  it  is  upon  this  fact  that  the  develop- 
ment of  the  opera  by  Wagner  was  based.  But  it  is  also 
true  that  there  is  something  in  this  method  to  suggest 
its  being  successful  not  solely  for  aesthetic  reasons,  but 
because  people  in  general  like  quantity  rather  than  qual- 
ity. In  such  operas,  there  is  a  little  of  almost  everything 
that  a  man  can  wish  either  to  see  or  to  hear.  But  this 
complexity  cannot  account,  except  indirectly  and  by  way 
of  contrast,  for  the  effects  of  those  parts  of  the  opera 
where  a  single  sweet  voice  sings  a  distinctively  musical 
melody,  or  a  number  of  well-trained  voices  sing  a  dis- 
tinctively musical  chorus,  or  an  experienced  orchestra 
plays  a  distinctively  instrumental  passage, —  in  short,  it 
cannot  account  for  those  parts  of  the  opera  that  often 
have  most  to  do  with  making  its  presentation  enjoyable. 
What  operatic  company  is  successful  in  our  own  country 
in  case  it  contain  no  preeminent  solo-singer?  And,  aside 
from  the  parts  just  mentioned  in  which  the  music  is  suffi- 
cient unto  itself,  what  does  the  opera  furnish  save  a 
species  of  intellectual  dissipation  rather  than  of  recrea- 
tion ;  save  effects  that,  on  account  of  their  variety,  are 
distracting  rather  than  restful, —  effects  in  which  there 
is  very  little  influence  resembling  that  of  the  "  still,  small 
voice"  which  thrills  us  when  listening  to  the  song  of  the 
family  circle  or  to  the  "  pure  music"  of  the  concert  room, 


470      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

or  when  reading  a  beautiful  poem  or  listening  to  an  elo- 
quent address  ?  All  parts  of  the  opera  furnish  changes 
from  ordinary  thoughts  and  occupations ;  and  all  changes 
have  their  charms.  But  something  more  than  the 
effect  of  mere  change  must  be  produced  before  one  can 
experience  that  distinctively  aesthetic  influence  which 
cultivated  minds  know  to  be  the  result  of  the  highest 
art. 

So  true  is  this,  indeed,  that,  very  often  at  the  opera,  the 
real  lover  of  music  will  be  seen,  during  the  execution  of 
the  more  effective  passages,  closing  his  eyes  in  order  to 
shut  from  view  those  distracting  surroundings  which,  ac- 
cording to  his  conception,  interfere  with  the  musical 
effects.  Even  though  one  be  not  a  German,  then,  he  may 
be  inclined  to  think,  at  times,  that  there  is  philosophy  as 
well  as  comfort  in  the  German's  way  of  listening  to  classic 
music  in  a  plain  beer-hall,  with  the  outlines  of  that  but 
half  revealed  behind  the  fumes  of  tobacco.  We  may  con- 
clude, too,  that  there  is  artistic  tact  as  well  as  adherence 
to  custom  in  the  twilight  vesper  services  of  the  cathedral, 
"where  the  choir  is  hidden  in  the  gallery,  and  about  one  is 
nothing  distinctly  visible  save  the  mighty  arches  of  the 
nave  looming  in  misty  forms  above,  and  the  vague  outlines 
of  the  multitude  bowing  beneath  it.  Do  not  these  facts 
suggest,  too,  a  possibility  of  musical  effects  which  never 
yet,  save  in  the  cases  of  a  few  choruses  behind  the  scenes 
in  the  opera,  have  been  attempted  ?  Art,  like  everything 
else  that  is  human,  is  effective,  for  one  thing,  in  the  degree 
in  which  its  efforts  are  directed  toward  one  aim  that  is 
made  distinct  and  separate  from  all  else  whatever,  whether 
appealing  to  the  ear  or  to  the  eye.  Why  could  there  not 
be,  if  not  a  style,  at  least  a  mode  of  rendering  music  in 
the  future,  which  should  be  to  that  of  the  present  what 


ELOCUTIONARY    VERSUS  POETIC  EFFECTS.        4/1 

the  most  thrilling  choral  of  the  cathedral  is  to  the  most 
trivial  chorus  of  the  barroom  ? 

It  will  be  interesting  to  notice  here  the  tendency  to 
confound  the  conceptions  that  find  expression  in  music 
and  poetry,  the  forms  of  which  appear  wholly  in  time, 
with  those  of  the  allied,  though  not  strictly  aesthetic,  art  of 
oratory,  the  words  of  which  appear  in  time  and  the  ges- 
tures in  space.  All  must  have  noticed  that  writings  which 
are  distinctively  poetic  are  not  therefore  the  most  effective 
when  declaimed.  A  good  elocutionist  can  produce  a  far 
more  profound  impression  with  Macaulay's  "  Horatius  at 
the  Bridge,"  or  Scott's  "  Lochinvar,"  than  with  the  finest 
passages  that  could  be  taken  from  Milton  or  Wordsworth. 
But  it  does  not  follow  that  the  former  are  entitled  to  a 
higher  rank  in  the  scale  of  poetry,  or  that  the  elocutionist 
who  renders  them  so  as  to  make  some  think  that  they  are 
entitled  to  it,  is  a  superlative  artist.  It  follows  only 
that,  however  well  adapted  to  elocutionary  delivery  some 
poetic  products  may  be,  poetry  is  not  elocution.  Viewed 
in  itself,  poetry  is  an  end, — a  series  of  words  representing 
the  comparative  processes  of  imagination.  Viewed  in 
connection  with  elocution,  poetry  is  a  means.  If  a  written 
product  happen  to  suggest  acting,  this  fact  alone,  irrespec- 
tive of  its  merit  as  poetry,  may  commend  it  to  the  elocu- 
tionist. It  follows  therefore  that  the  subject-matter  of 
each  of  the  two  arts  must  be  judged  by  a  different  stand- 
ard,— a  fact  which,  if  regarded,  would  save  our  critics  of 
poetry  many  a  slip,  and  our  orators  many  an  hour  use- 
lessly employed  in  the  vain  attempt  to  produce  an  orator- 
ical effect  through  the  medium  of  that  which  is  distinctively 
poetic.  It  is  logic  aimed  to  affect  reason  and  will,  rather 
than  analogy  aimed  to  affect  imagination  and  sentiment, 
that  renders  the  oration  powerful.  The  poetic  end  is 


4/2      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

important ;  but  not  in  circumstances  where  the  essential 
matter  is  to  influence  reason  and  will. 

Again,  there  is  elocution  characterized  by  a  motive  dis- 
tinctly musical.  In  correct  elocutionary  delivery,  every 
sound  represents  a  definite  thought.  In  music,  not  every 
sound  but  every  series  of  sounds  represents,  and,  even 
then,  it  does  not  represent  a  definite  thought  but  an  in- 
definite emotive  tendency  of  thought.  The  musical 
motive  is  manifested  in  elocution,  when  the  speaker  begins 
to  be  influenced  by  the  general  drift  of  the  words  rather 
than  by  the  particular  thought  behind  each  word.  He  is 
more  apt  to  be  influenced  thus  when  he  is  reading 
from  a  manuscript  than  when  he  is  speaking  without  one. 
When  the  eye  is  attending  to  phrases  instead  of  individual 
words  the  mind  is  apt  to  be  thinking  of  the  phrase.  As  a 
consequence,  there  begins  to  be  a  regularly  recurring 
series  of  slow  or  rapid  upward  and  downward  utterances, 
irrespective  of  the  emphasis  appropriate  for  particular 
words,  which,  when  a  man  is  thinking  of  them,  he  always 
gives.  This  makes  the  result  of  elocution  resemble  that 
of  music.  Music  either  puts  our  thinking  powers  to  sleep, 
as  if  the  rhythm  had  a  sort  of  hypnotic  influence,  or  else 
it  sets  us  to  thinking  not  of  anything  in  particular  but  of 
many  things  in  general,  the  drift  only  of  which  need  be  in 
analogy  with  that  which  is  being  heard.  And  this  is  just 
what  is  done  by  a  sermon  delivered  with  the  musical 
motive,  no  matter  how  sweet  the  voice  or  correct  the 
enunciation.  It  either  puts  people  to  sleep,  or  makes 
them  think  of  something  having  nothing  to  do  with  the 
discourse.  Indeed,  however  they  may  try  to  follow  the 
line  of  its  thought  they  have  hard  work  in  doing  so, 
the  legitimate  effect  of  the  delivery  being  to  incline  them 
away  from  it.  One's  feet  might  almost  as  well  attempt, 


ELOCUTIONARY  EFFECTS.  473 

without  slipping  off,  to  follow  a  line  of  cracks  along  the 
side  of  a  steep  roof  covered  with  ice. 

A  word,  too,  might  be  added  with  reference  to  the  fault 
of  making  elocution  too  picturesque ;  of  confounding 
representation  in  action  with  painting.  As  we  all  know, 
in  connection  with  expression  in  language,  only  a  moder- 
ate degree  of  action  is  natural.  To  overstep  the  boundary 
of  moderation  in  this  regard  is  to  transgress  those  limits 
where  the  dignity  of  appropriate  characterization  passes 
into  the  ludicrousness  of  incongruous  caricature, — a  result 
that  we  may  laugh  with  in  comedy,  but  can  only  laugh  at 
in  a  serious  performance. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

SIGNIFICANCE     MAINLY     ATTRIBUTABLE     TO     THE     ELE- 
MENTS  OF  ART-FORM   IN   SPACE  ALONE,  AS  DIF- 
FERENTLY   REPRESENTED    IN   LANDSCAPE- 
GARDENING,  PAINTING,  SCULPTURE, 
AND    ARCHITECTURE. 

Landscape-Gardening  :  Difference  between  the  Conceptions  Appropriate  for 
it  and  for  other  Arts  of  Sight — Painting  Attempting  to  Express  what 
can  be  Represented  in  Poetry  only — Illustrations — Even  in  Legitimate 
Allegoric  Paintings  the  Interest  is  Greatest  in  Single  Figures — Some 
Subjects  Appropriate  for  both  Painting  and  Poetry,  but  must  be  Differ- 
ently Treated — The  Shield  of  Achilles  as  Painted  and  as  Described  in 
the  "  Iliad  " — That  which  can  be  Represented  in  Painting  Distinguished 
from  that  in  Landscape-Gardening — In  Sculpture — In  Architecture — 
Difference  between  that  which  can  be  Represented  in  Sculpture  and  in 
Poetry — And  in  Landscape-Gardening  and  Painting  :  The  Material  and 
Lack  of  Color  in  a  Statue  Emphasizes  Individual  rather  than  Associa- 
tive Interest — The  Large  and  Grand  rather  than  the  Small  and 
Trivial  —  The  Dignified,  Regular,  Parallel,  etc.,  rather  than  the  Op- 
posite —  The  Conception  of  Architecture  should  be  Peculiar  to  It- 
self— Injurious  Influence  of  its  Imitating  Methods  of  Representation 
in  Painting  or  Sculpture — Buildings  Conceived  as  Pictures  Tending 
toward  Inartistic  Styles — Conclusion — Explanations. 

OEFORE  considering  painting,  it  may  be  well,  in  ac- 
cordance  with  what  has  been  done  before  in  one  or 
two  instances,  to  dwell  for  a  moment  upon  the  phase  of 
conception  that  finds  expression  in  the  allied,  though  not 
strictly  fine,  art  of  landscape-gardening.  This  phase  is  so 
distinctive  in  itself  that  there  is  little  danger  of  con- 
founding it  with  other  phases.  But  there  is  just  enough 

474 


SUBJECTS   OF  PAINTING    VERSUS  POETRY.        475 

danger  to  show  that  the  principles  which  have  been 
applied  to  the  other  arts  apply  to  this  one.  What  but  a 
subtle  tendency  to  imitate  the  effects  of  drawing  or  of 
painting  could  lead  to  the  mathematical  straightness  or 
stiffness  apparent  often  in  the  arrangements  of  walks  and 
plants,  and  of  outlines  in  artificial  ponds,  and  even  of  forms 
and  colors  in  flower-beds  ?  Or  what  but  a  confounding 
of  this  art  with  sculpture  or  architecture  could  result  in 
that  which  so  offends  good  taste  in  many  gardens, —  the 
crowding  together  of  plaster  statues,  waterless  fountains, 
riverless  bridges,  and  arbors  whereon  the  sun  never 
shines,  clipt  out  and  bent  out  of  trees  that  would  have 
seemed  beautiful  if  only  left  in  their  natural  condition  ? 
No  wonder  that  they  appear  artificial ! 

Returning  to  painting,  the  first  thing  in  order,  of  course, 
is  to  notice  pictures  that  indicate  the  methods  of  the 
poet.  As  stated  on  page  434,  poetry  represents  phases  of 
consciousness  moving,  one  after  another,  in  time.  So 
its  medium  of  representation  is  in  words  which  also  move. 
These  are  peculiarly  fitted  to  present  the  various  consec- 
utive thoughts  suggested,  as  well  as  the  events  detailed,  in 
a  story.  Painting,  on  the  other  hand,  represents  an  influ- 
ence of  fixedness  such  as  appeals  to  the  eye.  A  painter's 
first  impulse  is  always  to  represent  shapes  as  he  sees 
them,  and  hence  in  space.  A  child  with  a  pencil  in  hand, 
so  far  as  he  can  draw  at  all,  thinks  of  doing  nothing  else. 
But  once  present  his  mind  with  the  details,  whether  ap- 
pealing to  the  mind  or  to  the  eye,  of  that  which  forms  the 
substance  of  a  story,  and  he  is  tempted  to  represent 
these  with  brush  or  pencil.  Yet,  to  quote  from  the 
second  of  Opie's  "  Lectures  on  Design  " :  "  Many  interest- 
ing passages  in  history  and  poetry  are  incapable  of  afford- 
ing more  than  a  bald  and  insipid  representation  on  canvas. 


476      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

Of  this  description  is  the  incident  in  the  '  Iliad,'  where 
one  of  Priam's  younger  sons,  fallen  before  the  superior 
force  of  Achilles,  solicits  his  life  on  account  of  his  youth. 
'  Wretch  ! '  exclaims  the  furious  hero,  *  dost  thou  complain 
of  dying,  when  thou  knowest  that  Achilles  must  shortly 
die  ? '  Such  also  is  the  celebrated  passage  in  Corneille's 
1  Horatii,'  where  the  father  of  one  set  of  the  combatants, 
on  being  informed  that  his  son,  left  single  against  his 
three  antagonists,  had  turned  his  back,  appears  much 
agitated  and  enraged  ;  and  when  one  of  his  attendants 
asks,  '  What  should  your  son  have  done  against  such  dis- 
parity ?  '  instantly  retorts,  *  He  should  have  died.'  "  Such 
incidents  as  these,  if  made  the  subjects  of  pictures,  cannot 
be  understood  without  an  added  verbal  or  written  explana- 
tion, which  is  the  same  as  to  say  that,  in  any  accurate 
sense,  they  cannot  be  represented  at  all. 

Other  incidents  can  be  indicated  only  so  far  as  the  same 
persons  are  represented  as  doing  different  things  at  the 
same  time.  Probably  all  of  us  have  seen  old  engravings 
in  which  something  like  this  is  attempted,  engravings  in- 
tended to  show  at  a  single  glance  —  although  it  requires 
several  glances  to  discover  what  the  intention  really  is 
— the  whole  story  of  a  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  or  of  a  "  Drunk- 
ard's Progress."  However  interesting,  curious,  or  instruc- 
tive these  engravings  may  be,  we  all  feel  that  they  sustain 
much  the  same  relation  to  painting  of  a  high  order  as 
minutely  descriptive  verses,  like  those  quoted  on  page 
335,  sustain  to  the  finest  poetry.  Some  curious  pictures, 
composed  according  to  this  method,  are  found  among 
products  of  the  Middle  Ages.  In  the  Vatican  there  is  a 
Greek  manuscript  which  delineates  the  life  of  Joshua  in  a 
series  of  illustrations  which  form  a  continuous  band. 
Those  who  have  seen  the  originals  or  photographs  of  "  The 


SUBJECTS  OF  PAINTING    VERSUS  POETRY.       477 

Adoration  of  the  Magi/'  or  "  The  Presentation  at  the 
Temple,"  by  Bernardino  Luini,  will  recall  the  attempted 
representation  of  effects  in  time  that  is  evident  in  both  of 
them.  In  the  first,  besides  the  group  of  the  Magi  in  the 
foreground,  there  is  furnished,  in  the  background,  a  pic- 
ture of  the  journey  of  these  same  Magi  to  the  stable  :  we 
see  them,  with  a  line  of  heavily  laden  horses  and  camels, 
descending  a  zigzag  pathway,  which  reminds  one  of  the 
representation  of  a  mountain-pass  in  a  theatre.  In  the 
second,  there  is  given,  in  the  rear,  a  glimpse  of  the  flight 
into  Egypt  of  the  same  figures  that  are  also  in  the  fore- 
ground. 

It  is  apparent  that  in  these  paintings  an  attempt  is 
made  to  depict  in  a  single  view  events  that  could  not  con- 
ceivably be  actually  perceived  thus.  The  pictures,  there- 
fore, are  not  representative  of  the  appearances  of  nature. 
Reference  has  already  been  made,  on  page  419,  to  a 
somewhat  similar  effect  produced  by  allegoric  paintings, 
together  with  a  reason  why,  in  some  cases,  their  arrange- 
ments are,  nevertheless,  aesthetically  excusable.  To  that 
reason  another  may  be  added  here,  which  is,  that,  although 
there  is  a  certain  intellectual  pleasure  experienced  in 
trying  to  make  out  their  meanings,  nothing  can  more 
strikingly  illustrate  the  difference  between  this  pleasure 
and  that  which  is  purely  aesthetic  than  the  fact  that  of 
Kaulbach's  pictures  in  the  New  Museum  in  Berlin,  the 
simpler  single  symbolic  figures,  like  those  of  "Science" 
or  "  Poetry,"  are  far  more  generally  admired  than  the 
great  allegoric  paintings.  Not  only  so,  but  it  seems  to  be 
a  fact  also  that  those  portions  of  the  allegoric  paintings 
that  are  favorites  are  less  so  on  account  of  their  connec- 
tion with  the  whole  pictures  of  which  they  form  parts, 
than  because  they  can  be  separated  from" these,  as  is  shown 


478      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

in  so  many  copies  and  photographs  that  are  made  of  the 
group  of  the  "  Young  Pilgrims  "  taken  from  "  The  Destruc- 
tion of  Jerusalem." 

From  what  has  been  said,  however,  it  need  not  be  inferred 
that  painters  can  never  draw  their  subjects  from  poetry,  or 
poets  from  painting.  It  need  merely  be  inferred  that 
there  should  be  a  difference  in  the  ways  in  which  the  two 
arts  treat  the  same  subject.  An  illustration  of  this  differ- 
ence has  been  mentioned  already  in  connection  with  what 
was  said  on  page  418  of  the  series  of  paintings  by  Cole 
entitled  "  The  Voyage  of  Life."  Hogarth's  series  of 
paintings,  entitled  "  The  Rake's  Progress "  and  "  The 
Harlot's  Progress,"  exemplify  the  same  principle.  In 
these,  each  of  the  separate  pictures  represents  only  a 
single  situation.  Yet  all  placed  side  by  side  accomplish  a 
result  similar  to  that  which  would  be  reached  if  the  suc- 
cessive details  were  unfolded  in  a  representation  in  time. 

An  illustration  of  the  same  difference  in  method  has 
been  noticed  by  certain  of  the  German  critics,  in  connec- 
tion with  what  is  said  of  the  shield  of  Achilles  in  the 
eighteenth  book  of  the  "  Iliad."  We  know  how  the 
shield  would  be  perceived  in  space ;  but  the  poet,  instead 
of  saying  merely  that  this  and  that  were  to  be  seen  on  it, 
assumes  a  time  when  they  were  not ;  represents  Thetis, 
the  mother  of  Achilles,  journeying  to  Vulcan  to  request 
him  to  forge  it ;  and  then  mentions  the  actions  of  the  god 
of  the  anvil  while  he  fulfils  the  request. 


So  speaking  he  withdrew,  and  went  where  lay 
The  bellows,  turned  them  toward  the  fire,  and  bade 
The  work  begin. 

And  first  he  forged  the  huge  and  massive  shield, 
Divinely  wrought  in  every  part, — its  edge 
Clasped  with  a  triple  border,  white  and  bright, 


SUBJECTS   OF  PAINTING    VERSUS   SCULPTURE.     4/9 

A  silver  belt  hung  from  it  and  its  folds 

Were  five  ;  a  crowd  of  figures  on  its  disk 

Were  fashioned  by  the  artist's  passing  skill, 

For  here  he  placed  the  earth  and  heaven,  and  here, 

The  great  deep  and  the  never  setting  sun 

And  the  full  moon,  and  here  he  set  the  stars. 

Iliad,  xviii  :  Bryant 's  Trans. 

That  which  is  appropriate  for  representation  in  painting 
needs  to  be  distinguished  from  that  appropriate  not  only 
in  poetry  but  also  in  landscape-gardening,  sculpture,  and 
architecture.  When  we  recall  what  an  inartistic  impression 
is  frequently  conveyed  by  the  reproducing  in  a  picture  of 
a  highly  cultivated  park,  or  of  a  gentleman's  homestead, — 
the  house  architecturally  correct,  and  the  avenues  leading 
to  it  as  clearly  drawn  as  the  lines  of  a  geometric  figure, — 
then  we  may  understand  with  some  definiteness  what  is 
meant  by  confounding  the  conceptions  to  be  expressed  in 
landscape-gardening  and  in  painting.  Both  ought  to  repre- 
sent, as  all  art  should,  the  effects  of  nature  at  first  hand  ; 
but,  in  the  case  of  pictures  such  as  those  just  mentioned, 
there  is  danger  that  the  main  impression  conveyed  will  be 
of  the  effects  upon  nature  of  some  man,  of  some  land- 
scape-artist. And  reflection  will  convince  us  that  this  is 
the  reason — certainly  a  sufficient  one — why  such  pictures 
often  appear  inartistic.  They  manifest,  to  too  great  an 
extent,  the  influence  of  a  method  of  representation  appro- 
priate to  another  art. 

The  difference  between  that  which  is  appropriately 
represented  in  painting  and  in  sculpture  is  very  truthfully 
suggested,  though  not  entirely  indicated,  by  the  difference, 
which  all  recognize,  between  the  meaning  of  the  terms 
picturesque  and  statuesque.  The  picturesque,  as  defined 
on  page  280,  involves  a  conception  of  much  and  minute 
variety.  And  this  is  just  what  painting  involves.  The 


480      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

color  that  is  used  in  it,  and  not  in  sculpture,  is  never  well 
applied  unless  it  imitates  the  influences  of  light  and  shade 
in  nature  to  such  a  degree  as  to  cause  slight  differences 
at  almost  every  perceptible  point.  Besides  this,  color 
enables  the  artist  to  separate,  one  from  another,  and  thus 
to  represent  clearly,  a  very  large  number  of  small  details 
most  of  which  would  be  indistinguishable  if  an  attempt 
were  made  to  indicate  them  in  sculpture.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  statuesque  involves  the  conception  of  something 
that  stands  out  by  itself, — something  that,  because  it  has 
bulk  or  body,  can  be  looked  at  from  every  side.  Even 
when  the  term  applies  to  the  sculpture  of  mere  relief,  the 
solidity  of  the  medium  that  is  used  in  it,  and  not  in  paint- 
ing, tends  to  separate  every  contour  from  every  other  by 
emphatically  defined  outlines.  These  outlines,  too,  must 
be  comparatively  few  in  number  and  the  objects  which 
they  delineate  comparatively  large  in  size.  Thus  the 
limitations  of  the  material  used  in  each  of  the  arts  deter- 
mine the  limitations  of  the  subjects  which  it  and  it  alone 
can  appropriately  embody.  On  account  of  the  minute 
representative  possibilities  of  color,  one  can  make  a  paint- 
ing of  a  landscape,  and  can  crowd  into  a  small  compass 
a  large  number  of  figures  and  faces,  appearing  almost 
immediately  beside  or  behind  one  other.  In  sculpture, 
landscape  is  well-nigh  impossible,  and  so  is  any  extensive 
grouping  of  figures.  Even  such  figures  as  can  be  brought 
together,  must,  owing  to  the  uniformity  of  color,  be  very 
distinctly  separated,  and,  as  artistic  effects  produced 
through  variety  of  hues  are  impossible,  compensating 
artistic  effects  through  the  use  of  outlines  become  impera- 
tive. Hence  parallelism,  continuity,  balance,  symmetry, 
and  kindred  methods  of  aesthetically  accenting  the  require- 
ments of  contour  become  more  prominent.  For  instance, 


SUBJECTS   OF  PAINTING    VERSUS   SCULPTURE.     481 

in  the  group  of  "  Niobe  and  her  Children,"  1  none  of  the 
figures  touch  one  another,  and  all  are  separated  by  appar- 
ently equal  spaces ;  besides  which,  on  each  side  of  the 
centre,  they  lean  in  exactly  the  same  directions.  In  the 
relief  called  "  The  Soldier's  Return,  "  2  on  the  National 
Monument  near  Bingen,  Germany,  the  figures,  though 
apparently  touching,  are  all  separated  by  approximately 
like  distances,  and,  on  each  side  of  the  centre,  their  trunks 
and  limbs  produce  effects  of  exact  parallelism.  In  paint- 
ing, such  uniformity  of  arrangement,  through  the  use  of 
outlines  alone,  suggests  artificiality,  unless  intended  to 
imitate  effects  of  sculpture.  Why  ?  Because  an  art  is 
always  fulfilling  its  best  possibilities  when  it  is  doing  that 
which  it  and  it  alone  can  do.  What  painting  can  do  and 
sculpture  cannot,  is  to  produce  effects  through  the  use 
of  pigments.  What  sculpture  can  do  and  painting  cannot, 
is  to  produce  effects  through  the  use  of  bulk,  including 
outlines  representing  length,  breadth,  and  thickness. 
When  the  painter  is  trying  to  produce  effects  of  bulk 
such  as  can  be  better  produced  in  sculpture,  or  of  out- 
lines such  as  can  be  just  as  well  produced  where  there 
is  no  color,  he  is,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  under  the 
influence  of  methods  necessitated  where  those  of  color  are 
wanting.  These  statuesque  effects  are  most  common  of 
all  in  mural  paintings.  In  almost  any  decorated  interior, 
we  come  upon  figures,  either  alone  or  in  groups,  some  of 
them,  if  not  highly  colored,  hardly  distinguishable,  at  a 
distance,  from  statues.  Often,  even  when  grouped,  they 
stand  apparently  alone,  looking  not  at  one  another  but  at 
ourselves,  showing  that  the  chief  object  of  their  artist  was 

1  Fig.  45,  page  146,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

2  Fig.    52,   page  176,    "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form"  ;     Fig.  23,  page  51, 
44  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

3* 


482      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 

to  call  attention  to  the  beauty  of  the  contour  or  pose  of 
each  individual  figure,  rather  than  to  the  blendings  of  the 
outlines  and  colors  of  all  the  figures  of  the  composition 
considered  as  a  whole.  In  other  words,  such  paintings 
produce  a  statuesque  rather  than  a  picturesque  effect. 
Undoubtedly,  in  certain  cases,  they  are  the  only  forms  of 
painting  adapted  to  the  circumstances.  But  in  other 
cases  they  are  out  of  place,  and  appear  stiff  and  unnatural. 
Especially  do  they  seem  out  of  place  in  certain  products 
which  carry  to  an  extreme  the  conception  that  a  painting 
should  never  even  suggest  a  story.  As  will  be  shown  on 
page  484,  there  is  some  reason  for  holding  this  view  as 
applied  to  grouping  in  statuary.  But,  as  applied  to  paint- 
ing, it  is  questionable  whether  the  conception  in  its  ex- 
treme form  is  not  very  largely  a  result  of  confounding  the 
picturesque  with  the  statuesque. 

There  are  other  paintings,  usually  developments,  too, 
of  decoration,  which  may  be  said  to  manifest  not  so  much 
a  statuesque  as  an  architectural  effect.  Some  of  the  altar- 
pieces  and  religious  compositions  of  the  old  masters  show 
an  absolutely  symmetrical  disposition  of  the  figures.1 
Their  sides  are  balanced  against  one  another  in  such  ways 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  compare  them  to  anything 
except  the  wings  of  a  building ;  while  the  symmetrical 
framework  of  pillars,  pediments,  and  steps  actually  sur- 
rounding the  figures  in  many  instances,  not  only  suggests 
but  literally  proclaims  the  architectural  motive.  These 
architectural  effects,  if  there  be  a  reason  in  the  subject 
excusing  them,  as  is  the  case,  for  instance,  in  Raphael's 
"  School  of  Athens,"  2  may  add  interest  to  the  composi- 

1  See  Fig.  15,  page  71,  also  Fig.  58,  page  185,  of  "  The  Genesis  of  Art- 
Form.  " 

2  Fig.  10,  page  41,   "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form"  ;  Fig.   156,  page  249, 
"  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


SUBJECTS   OF  SCULPTURE    VERSUS  POETRY.      483 

tion  ;  but  otherwise  they  not  infrequently  do  the  opposite. 
The  methods  of  sculpture  differ,  of  course,  just  as  do 
those  of  painting,  from  the  methods  of  poetry.  A  good 
illustration  of  the  difference  may  be  noticed  by  contrast- 
ing the  statue  of  the  Dying  Gladiator  or  Galatian,1  proba- 
bly well  known  to  all  of  us,  with  Byron's  description  of 
the  statue.  Here  are  his  words  : 

I  see  before  me  the  Gladiator  lie  ; 

He  leans  upon  his  hand  —  his  manly  brow 

Consents  to  death  but  conquers  agony, 

And  his  drooped  head  sinks  gradually  low  — 

And  through  his  side,  the  last  drops,  ebbing  slow 

From  the  red  gash,  fall  heavy,  one  by  one, 

Like  the  first  of  a  thunder-shower  ;  and  now 

The  arena  swims  around  him  —  he  is  gone, 

Ere  ceased  the  inhuman  shout  which  hailed  the  wretch  who  won. 

He  heard  it ;  but  he  heeded  not  —  his  eyes 
Were  with  his  heart,  and  that  was  far  away. 
He  recked  not  of  the  life  he  lost,  nor  prize, 
But  where  his  rude  hut  by  the  Danube  lay, 
There  were  his  young  barbarians  all  at  play, 
There  was  their  Dacian  mother — he,  their  sire, 
Butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday. 

Childe  Harold  :  Byron. 

Nothing  needs  to  be  added  with  reference  to  confound- 
ing sculpture  with  landscape-gardening  beyond  that  which 
was  said  on  page  475.  But,  at  the  risk  of  some  unavoid- 
able repetition,  the  line  of  thought  already  suggested  when 
separating  painting  from  sculpture  may,  so  far  as  it  refers 
to  the  limitations  of  the  latter,  be  somewhat  extended. 
The  word  statue  seems  to  indicate  still  more  distinctively 
than  the  word  picture  that  there  must  be  a  representation 
of  that  which  is  stationary.  With  this  suggestion  in  mind, 

1  Fig.  166,  page  283,  "  Paint.,  Sculp.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


484      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

we  shall  find  that,  as  a  fact,  the  principle  applied  to  paint- 
ing on  page  477  is  yet  more  applicable  to  sculpture.  The 
continuous  stages  in  which  the  hero  is  constantly  reap- 
pearing, which  is  delineated  in  the  spiral  band  surrounding 
the  column  of  Trajan,  is  probably  even  less  interesting 
in  itself  than  is  the  pictorial  story  of  the  life  of  Joshua 
mentioned  on  page  476.*  Nor  is  there  much  doubt  that 
the  different  separate  pictures  in  the  series  by  Hogarth, 
entitled  "  The  Rake's  Progress  "  or  "  The  Harlot's  Prog- 
ress," are  more  interesting  than  the  different  single  scenes, 
all  together  representing  the  "  Life  of  Columbus,"  which 
constitute  the  sections  of  one  of  the  pairs  of  bronze  doors 
of  the  Capitol  at  Washington.  Another  reason  for  this 
fact  will  be  suggested  on  page  486.  At  present,  let  us 
notice  that  what  sculpture  can  do,  and  painting  cannot, 
is  to  produce  effects  through  the  use  of  bulk,  i.  e.,  of  out- 
lines, including  those  of  length,  breadth,  and  thickness, — 
outlines  that  one  can  sometimes  walk  around  and  regard 
from  every  side.  It  follows  that  sculpture  is  at  its  best  in 
the  statue,  or,  so  far  as  in  the  relief,  in  that  in  which  the 
figures  project  to  the  greatest  degree  possible.  This  con- 
dition is  represented  in  significance  by  giving  to  each 
figure  even  of  a  group  an  individual  rather  than  a  collec- 
tive, associative,  or  communicative  interest.  To  explain 
what  is  meant,  the  figures  depicted  in  the  frieze  surround- 
ing the  Parthenon,9  whether  in  the  procession  or  not, 
indicate  an  individual  interest  in  the  sense  of  not  repre- 
senting any  great  interchange,  between  one  figure  and  an- 
other, of  thought,  feeling,  or  action.  In  this  regard,  they 

1  See  also  "  An  Epitome  of  the  Lives  of  Isaac,  Jacob,  and  Esau,"  as  it  is 
represented  in  one  of  the  reliefs  in  the  door  of  the  Baptistery  at  Florence, 
Fig.  155,  page  247,  of  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

2  Fig.  148,  page  223,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


THE   STATUESQUE    VERSUS    THE  PICTURESQUE.    485 

present  an  entirely  different  appearance  from  figures  in 
such  paintings  as  Rubens's  "Descent  from  the  Cross,"1  or 
Raphael's  "  Death  of  Ananias."  '  So,  in  the  group  of 
"  Niobe  and  her  Children,"3 described  on  page  481, there  is 
no  interchange  of  feeling  or  action  ;  yet,  at  the  same  time, 
because  each  figure,  in  its  own  way,  gives  expression  to 
the  same  general  emotion  of  grief,  its  position  is  interpre- 
tive of  the  meaning  of  all  the  figures.  Or  take  a  more 
marked  example.  The  German  scholar,  Ludwig  Preller, 
says  that  the  "  Apollo  Belvedere,"  4  or  the  statue  after 
which  this  is  modelled,  probably  stood  originally  on  the 
apex  of  the  pediment  of  a  temple  at  Delphi,  with  the 
statue  termed  "  Diana  of  the  Louvre  "  6  on  one  side  of  it, 
and  the  statue  termed  "  Athena  of  the  Capital  "  6  on  the 
other  side.  This  would  be  in  accordance  with  the  answer 
said  to  have  been  given,  when  the  Gauls  approached 
Delphi,  to  the  question  of  the  people  whether  the  treas- 
ures of  the  temple  should  be  removed.  The  answer  was, 
"  I  myself  [meaning  Apollo]  and  the  White  Maidens 
[meaning  Athena  and  Diana]  will  take  care  of  that." 
Now  if  we  can  recall  the  appearance  of  these  three  statues 
as  thus  situated,  we  shall  be  able  to  comprehend  how 
their  postures,  full  of  movement  as  each  is,  should  mutu- 
ally add  to  one  another's  interest,  and  at  the  same  time 
not  interfere  at  all  with  the  statuesque  character  of  the 
effect  of  each.  ,  When,  however,  we  come  to  such  products 

1  Fig.  163,  page  277,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts"  ;  Fig. 
16,  page  72,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

2  Fig.  39,  page  79,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts"  ;  Fig.  94, 
page  288,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

3  Fig.  45,  page  146,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

4  Fig.  28,  page  62,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

5  Fig.  19,  page  75,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

6  Fig.  37,  page  76,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


486      REPRESENTA  TIVE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

as  the  well-known  bronze  doors  of  the  Baptistery *  at 
Florence,  or  those  of  the  Capitol  at  Washington,  men- 
tioned on  page  484,  we  seem  to  be  upon  more  doubtful 
ground.  Different  sections  of  these  are  made  to  repre- 
sent different  parts  of  a  continuous  narrative.  Perhaps  a 
trustworthy  method  through  which  to  estimate  the  aes- 
thetic value  of  the  result  is  to  ask  ourselves  whether  we 
admire  such  products  on  account  of  the  story  which  they 
reveal,  or,  as  is  true  of  the  statues  mentioned  a  moment 
ago,  on  account  of  the  grace  or  significance  of  the  indi- 
vidual figures  represented  in  connection  with  the  story. 
Upon  reflection,  we  probably  shall  find  the  latter  reason 
to  be  the  true  one.  Even  in  statues,  merely  symbolic, 
as  on  the  silver  monument  to  Marshal  Saxe  by  Pigalle  at 
Prague,  and  on  that  to  Maria  Christina,  Duchess  of  Saxe- 
Teschen,2  by  Canova  at  Vienna,  the  former  of  which  rep- 
resents the  mailed  form  of  Maurice  of  Saxony  surrounded 
by  all  sorts  of  living  creatures, —  an  eagle,  a  lion,  a  Cupid, 
etc., — and  the  latter  the  sepulchral  pyramid  of  the  de- 
ceased, in  which  heaven  and  earth  are  represented  by  an 
angel  leaning  on  a  lion,  and  the  mourning  people  by  the 
four  ages  of  life,  depositing  the  ashes  of  the  princess,  — 
even  in  such  works  we  probably  shall  find  our  interest 
centring  mainly  in  the  individual  figures.  Notice,  too, 
how  much  more  true  this  is  apt  to  be  in  the  case  of  sculpt- 
ure than  of  painting.  We  seldom  see  in  a  picture  a  figure 
that  stands  out  from  all  surrounding  figures,  asserting  such 
claims  to  preeminent  and  exclusive  attention  as  is  com- 
mon in  groups  of  statuary.  Continuing  this  line  of 
thought,  we  shall  soon  recall  how  superlatively  we  have 
enjoyed  certain  statues,  for  the  very  reason,  apparently, 

1  Fig.  155,  page  247,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 

2  Fig.  22,  page  50,  idem. 


DIGNITY  IN    THE   STATUESQUE.  487 

that  they  were  placed  so  that  we  could  view  them  apart 
from  anything  else, — statues  that  stand  in  rows,  as  in  the 
Vatican,  or  in  alcoves  by  themselves,  as  is  the  case  at 
Rome  with  the  " Apollo  Belvedere,"1  and  the  "Venus 
of  the  Capital,"  and  at  Frankfort-on-the-Rhine  with  the 
"  Ariadne."  These  facts  may  aid  us  in  forming  a  concep- 
tion of  what  is  meant  by  the  phase  of  significance  repre- 
sented in  the  statue,  and  by  the  statue's  significance  being 
less  dependent  than  is  that  of  a  painting  upon  the  sugges- 
tion of  cause  and  effect  as  operating  in  time. 

But  there  is  yet  a  more  important  limitation  to  the  sub- 
ject-matter in  sculpture.  As  said  on  page  434,  sculpture 
differs  from  painting  in  not  representing  color,  and  in  rep- 
resenting bulk  or  body.  By  consequence,  painting  that 
depicts  leaves,  flowers,  fruit,  and  children,  or  grown  peo- 
ple as  doing  very  trifling  things,  may  rank  high,  because 
manifesting  a  high  degree  of  skill  in  drawing  and  coloring. 
The  more  minute  the  factors  with  which  both  of  these 
deal,  the  more  difficult,  often,  is  it  to  attain  success. 
Besides  this,  almost  any  scene  which  painting  depicts 
includes  a  very  large  number  of  different  objects ;  and 
these  to  an  extent  may  compensate  in  quantity  for  what 
the  general  subject  lacks  in  quality.  But  in  sculpture  the 
conditions  are  different.  There  is  almost  no  comparison 
between  carving  the  wreath  of  a  column's  capital  and  the 
contour  of  a  human  body ;  and,  if  the  latter  have  to  be 
carved  at  all,  the  difficulty  of  the  work,  the  permanence 
of  the  material,  and  the  fact  that  the  body,  when  com- 
pleted, is  to  be  the  sole  object  of  attention,  all  combine 
to  make  it  seem  especially  inappropriate  to  have  it  repre- 
sent a  trivial  subject.  It  ought  to  be  a  dignified  subject, 
or,  in  lieu  of  that,  at  least  a  subject  treated  in  a  dignified 

1  Fig.  28,  page  62,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


488      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

way.  As  for  the  dignity  of  the  subject,  notice  that,  in  a 
sense  not  true  of  painting,  it  is  appropriate  that  the  figure 
delineated  should  be  represented  in  a  form  greatly  ex- 
aggerated. Very  large  pictures,  like  those  of  West  in  the 
Philadelphia  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  sometimes  offend  us 
by  their  very  size ;  and  it  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive 
of  an  attractive  picture  with  figures  of  heroic  proportions. 
But  the  "  Moses"  of  Angelo  or  the  "  Liberty  Enlighten- 
ing the  World  "  in  New  York  do  not  offend  us.  On  the 
contrary,  very  small  pictures,  as  in  miniatures,  are  often 
extremely  pleasing  and  valuable.  But  most  of  us  cannot 
avoid  feeling,  when  we  see  the  bronze  doors  of  the  Capitol 
at  Washington,  that  the  small  size  of  the  figures  makes 
the  work  expended  upon  them  hardly  worth  while,  be- 
cause such  subjects  could  have  been  represented  so  much 
more  satisfactorily  in  pictures. 

As  for  dignity  of  treatment  in  lieu  of  dignity  of  subject, 
the  influence  of  this  was  indicated  in  what  was  said,  on 
page  480,  of  the  very  extensive  use  made  in  sculpture  of 
effects  produced  by  regularity  of  lines,  as  in  parallelism, 
continuity,  balance,  and  symmetry.  The  prominence  of 
these  effects  is  noticeable  even  in  a  group  like  that  of 
"  The  Laocoon,"  *  where  they  are  partly  concealed  by  the 
complexity  of  the  arrangements.  But  in  other  products 
they  are  not  concealed.  Often  in  sculptured  reliefs  the 
repetition  of  similar  directions  in  the  outlines  is  so  ap- 
parent as  to  produce  a  rhythmic  effect,"  corresponding  to 
that  produced  by  men  marching ;  and  this  effect  imparts 
as  much  greater  dignity  to  each  individual  figure  as  it 

1  Fig.  21,  page  49,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts"  ;  Fig.  75, 
page  226,  "  The  Genesis  of  Art-Form." 

2  See  "Romans  Besieging  a  Fortress,"  Fig.  6,  page  27,   "The  Genesis 
of   Art-Form"  ;  also  "  The  Soldier's  Return,"  Fig.  52,  page  176,  idem.  ; 
also  Fig.  23,  page  51,  "  Paint.,  Sculpt.,  and  Arch,  as  Rep.  Arts." 


ARCHITECTURAL   VERSUS  PICTORIAL   METHODS,    489 

does  to  an  ordinary  man  when  he  is  put  into  line  with 
others  in  a  military  company.  Such  effects,  too,  for 
reasons  given  on  page  481,  are  frequently  entirely  out  of 
place  in  paintings. 

Turning  now  to  architecture,  perhaps  it  might  be  af- 
firmed that  in  no  other  art  is  it  more  necessary  to  apply 
principles  like  those  under  consideration.  Not,  of  course, 
that  there  is  any  danger  of  confounding  its  method  of 
representation  with  that  of  poetry  or  music  ;  but  there  is 
danger  of  confounding  it  with  that  of  painting  or  sculpt- 
ure. When  our  race,  with  no  models  to  direct  them,  first 
began  to  build  houses  and  temples,  the  external  forms  of 
each  were  determined  by  the  design  for  which  it  was  con- 
structed,—  a  design  suggested,  as  reflection  will  show  that 
it  must  have  been,  by  the  modes  of  attaining  in  nature 
ends  like  those  of  support,  protection,  and  shelter.  This 
being  the  case,  the  desire  to  attain  these  ends  was  evident 
to  every  one  who  saw  the  building;  in  other  words,  the 
building's  effects  we're  artistic  in  the  sense  of  being  genu- 
inely representative  of  the  design  of  the  builder. 

In  process  of  time,  however,  after  many  such  structures 
had  been  erected,  and  some  of  them  had  come  to  be 
especially  admired  for  their  appearance,  a  class  of  artists 
arose  more  intent  to  imitate  this  appearance  than  the 
methods  in  accordance  with  which  the  older  architects  had 
designed  the  buildings  and  caused  them  to  appear  as  they 
did.  As  a  consequence,  there  came  to  be  no  apparent  con- 
nection between  the  outward  form  of  a  building  and  that 
for  which  it  was  designed  ;  —  in  other  words,  architecture 
ceased  to  be  representative,  in  the  sense  in  which  the  word 
has-been  used  in  this  essay.  But  besides  this,  after  the 
arts  of  painting  and  sculpture  had  been  developed,  archi- 
tects began  to  manifest  a  tendency  to  imitate  the  methods, 


490      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

if  not  the  appearances,  employed  in  these  arts.  In  ac- 
counting for  the  inferiority  of  the  architecture  of  the 
Renaissance,  Fergusson,  in  the  introduction  to  his  "  His- 
tory of  Modern  Architecture,"  says :  "  Most  of  those  who 
first  practised  it,  at  the  time  the  revolution  took  place, 
were  either  amateurs,  sculptors,  or  painters.  Alberti  may 
be  named  as  among  the  earliest  and  the  most  distinguished 
of  the  first  class.  Among  the  latter,  it  is  hardly  neces- 
sary to  name  Michael  Angelo,  Raphael,  Giulio  Romano, 
Peruzzi,  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  etc.  .  .  .  All  painters 
can  make  architectural  designs  for  the  backgrounds  of 
their  pictures.  .  .  .  But  if  any  one  supposes  that 
such  a  design  will  make  a  permanently  satisfactory  build- 
ing, he  knows  little  of  the  demands  of  true  art,  and  how 
little  its  requirements  are  to  be  met  by  such  child's  play. 
.  .  .  Perfection  was  reached  in  architecture  in  the 
Middle  Ages  ;  and  the  attempt  to  supersede  this,  and  to 
introduce  the  plan  of  designing  by  the  sketches  of  an 
individual,  is  really  the  root  of  the  difference  between  the 
two  systems." 

In  this  passage,  Fergusson  ascribes  inferiority  to  mod- 
ern architecture  as  contrasted  with  mediaeval, — though  he 
does  not  employ  these  words, — because  of  the  prevailing 
tendency  in  this  art  to  derive  its  methods  from  painting 
and  sculpture  rather  than  from  the  natural  promptings 
and  requirements  of  architecture  itself.  This  tendency 
often  causes  the  builder  to  be  entirely  satisfied  with  an 
"elevation  "  that  merely  makes  a  satisfactory  picture  when 
drawn  on  paper.  But,  as  will  be  shown  in  the  volume  of 
this  series  entitled  "  Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and 
Color,"  the  requirements  of  perspective  often  prevent  the 
parts  of  a  building,  which,  when  so  drawn,  seem  to  fulfil 
the  principles  of  proportion,  from  fulfilling  them  when  put 


CONCLUSION.  491 

into  the  building  itself.  Besides  this,  the  tendency  leads 
to  other  forms  of  confusion  between  the  kinds  of  concep- 
tions appropriate  for  producing  effects  in  this  art  and  of 
conceptions  that  find  legitimate  expression  in  the  other 
arts  only.  One  element  of  successful  architecture  un- 
doubtedly is  the  mere  external  appearance  of  a  building. 
And  yet,  if  this  alone  be  regarded,  is  it  not  evident  that 
the  building,  according  as  it  is  constructed  with  exclusive 
reference  to  its  position  or  proportions,  will  be  the  embod- 
iment of  a  motive  less  legitimate  distinctively  to  architec- 
ture than  to  landscape-gardening,  painting,  or  sculpture  ? 
And  is  it  not  because  of  this  confusion  of  motives  that  we 
find  in  our  modern  buildings — in  their  cornices,  roofs, 
windows,  and  walls — so  much  that  is  false,  in  other  words, 
so  much  that  is  merely  on  the  outside,  put  there  to  look 
well,  not  to  fulfil  or  to  give  embodiment  to  any  such  sig- 
nificance as  it  is  the  peculiar  function  of  architecture  to 
represent  ?  This  is  not  to  say  that,  in  this  art,  the  exter- 
nal form  should  violate  the  laws  of  proportion  or  har- 
mony ;  but  it  is  to  say  that  these  latter  should  be  made 
subordinate  to  the  general  design,  that  they  should  cause 
the  outlines  to  be  so  disposed  as  to  indicate  this  design, 
and  not,  as  is  true  in  too  many  cases,  to  conceal  it. 

Enough  has  been  said,  however,  with  reference  to  this 
and  to  the  other  arts,  to  indicate  the  truth  of  that  which 
has  been  maintained  in  this  chapter,  namely,  the  neces- 
sity, when  a  work  of  art  is  to  be  produced,  of  first  dis- 
tinctly separating  the  conception  to  be  expressed  in  it 
from  all  that  cannot  be  embodied  appropriately  in  the 
form  of  art  that  has  been  chosen  for  the  medium  of  repre- 
sentation. 

This  discussion  has  now  reached  a  point  where  it  can  go 
no  farther  in  the  direction  which  has  been  pursued  without 


492      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 

confining  attention  for  a  time  to  each  art  by  itself,  in 
order  to  show  thus  the  different  phases  of  thought  and 
emotion  which  its  various  elements  of  form  are  fitted, 
singly  and  conjointly,  to  represent.  The  results  of  an 
endeavor  to  do  this  will  be  found  in  the  volumes  of  this 
series,  entitled  "  Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art/'  "  Paint- 
ing, Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts," 
and  in  the  essay  entitled  "  Music  as  a  Representative 
Art,"  which  latter,  for  convenience,  is  printed  in  the  vol- 
ume entitled  "  Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and 
Music."  Later  on  in  the  development  of  the  general 
line  of  thought,  after  this  subject  of  significance  in  form 
has  been  fully  considered,  the  subject  of  form  as  form  is 
taken  up  and  discussed  in  three  volumes,  namely,  "  The 
Genesis  of  Art-Form,"  "  Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry 
and  Music,"  and  "  Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and 
Color  in  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture." 


INDEX. 


Absolute,  the,  as  suggested  in  na- 
ture, 13-21  ;  is  conformity  to  an 
absolute  method,  32,  38,  56  ;  not 
inconsistent  with  suggestions  of 
change,  51-56;  or  of  the  eternal 
and  infinite,  19-21  ;  revealed 
through  single  specimens,  56—59  ; 
truth,  32,  38,  54,  56-59. 

Achilles,  shield  of,  described  by 
Homer,  478. 

Adoration  of  Magi,  Luini,  477. 

^Eneid,  263,  265,  327,  331. 

yEschylus,  443. 

^Esthetics,  comparative,  iii.  ;  Sci- 
ence of,  Day,  276,  280,  433. 

Africa,  religion  of,  89,  100,  102. 

Age,  influence  of  the,  on  artistic  in- 
spiration, 129  ;  on  religious  inspi- 
ration, 31,  112—115  ;  on  works  of 
genius,  247. 

Akenside,  333. 

Alcamenes,  204. 

Alexander,  panel-paintings  of,  363. 

Alexander's  Feast,  Dryden,  345. 

Alhambra,  386. 

Allegoric  and  Allegory  :  music,  325, 
350;  painting,  325,  354,  418-420, 
476-478  ;  poetry,  325,  330  ;  sculp- 
ture, 325,  367,  368. 

Alum  Bay,  Talfourd,  438. 

Analogical  Representation,  64  ; 
cause  of  continuing  influence  of 
art-products,  206,  207  ;  distin- 
guished from  logical  formulation, 
193-196;  from  spiritually  influen- 
tial suggestion,  175,  189-191  ; 
necessitates  form  as  does  all  art, 
194. 

Analogy,  194-207  ;  involves  likeness 
in  methods  of  formation,  196. 


Analysis  of  thought  in  this  volume, 
388,  389. 

Ananias,  Death  of,  Raphael,  364. 

Anarchy,  Vedder,  354. 

Ancient  Mariner,  Coleridge,  236. 

Anderson,  Charles,  trance  speaker, 
101. 

Angelo,  Michael,  48,  231,  266,  277, 
32i,  355-357,  368,  379,  488. 

Animals,  their  methods  of  communi- 
cation, 97-99  ;  their  thinking 
processes,  97  ;  the  subconscious 
in,  95-99  ;  why  sinless,  95,  96  ; 
why  worshipped,  95,  note. 

Antoinette,  Marie,  78. 

Apollo  Belvedere,  485,  487  ;  signifi- 
cance, how  represented  in,  425. 

Appearances,  meaning  of  word  as 
used  in  art,  3. 

Arabesque  Architecture,  325,  386. 

Arbuthnot,  Epistle  to  Dr.,  Pope, 
236. 

Arch,  pointed,  architecture  of,  325, 
377,  38i,  383,  384,  386,  387; 
round,  architecture  of,  325,  377- 

379,  385. 

Architectural  Styles,  Rosengarten, 
386. 

Architecture,  as  affected  by  sur- 
rounding scenery,  430,  431  ;  com- 
memorative, 325,  382  ;  constructed 
according  to  analogies  of  nature, 
204,  205  ;  distinguished  from 
other  arts,  434 ;  distinguished 
from  painting  and  sculpture,  434, 
489-491  ;  distinguished  from 
poetry,  446-448  ;  dramatic,  325, 
37I-37°,  383-387  ;  effects  con- 
founded with  those  of  drawing, 
489—491  ;  effects  of  outline  in, 


493 


494      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 


Architecture  —  Continued. 

370-376  ;  epic,  325,  371-376,  378- 
380,  385-387  ;  of  horizontal  sup- 
port or  entablature,  325,  377,  380- 
382,  385-387  ;  of  perpendicular 
support  or  pointed  arch,  325,  377, 
380,  383-387  ;  of  vaulted  support 
or  round-arch,  325,  377-380,  385- 
387  ;  realistic,  325,  371-376,  380- 
382,  385-387  ;  significance  in, 
426-431  ;  time-effects  in,  425- 
427  ;  unity  and  progress  in,  425- 
431  ;  unity  of  effect  in  street  and 
campus,  428,  429. 

Architecture,  History  of  Modern, 
Fergusson,  490. 

Ariadne,  statue,  487. 

Aristotle  on  epic  art,  324  ;  on  dra- 
matic, 317. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  95. 

Arrangement,  and  method  of,  as 
suggested  in  nature,  6-u. 

Art,  aided  by  religion,  136,  230-232  ; 
aided  by  science,  154,  211,  212, 
229-232  ;  an  aid  to  religion,  135, 
136;  an  aid  to  science,  151-154, 
I7I~T73»  characterized  by  blend- 
ing of  conscious  and  subconscious 
mental  action,  87,  94,  129,  133- 
135,  155,  156,  159-16.1,  210,  211, 
271  considers  objects  as  wholes, 
147  continued  influence  of,  206, 
207  derives  emotions,  thoughts, 
and  forms  from  nature,  5,  133  ; 
distinguished  from  religion,  62- 
64,  87,  94,  130-134,  155-165, 
189-191  ;  distinguished  from  sci- 
ence, 62-64,  87,  94,  I37~I54, 
164-180,  193,  194,  253,  254  ;  ef- 
fects peculiar  to  those  of  sugges- 
tion through  representation,  189— 
191,  241;  effects  on  culture,  252- 
254  ;  effects  on  materialism  and 
traditionalism,  135,  136 ;  does 
most  for  religion  and  morals  when 
attending  to  its  own  business, 
131-134,  162,  163,  190,  191  ;  in- 
cludes the  painful,  267-269  ;  in 
hypnotism,  68,  69,  132  ;  its  aim 
as  pleasure,  267-269  ;  its  effects 
natural  when  analogical,  198-205  ; 
its  effects  related  to  hypnotism, 


68,  69,  132  ;  its  limitations  a 
source  of  strength,  206,  207  ;  its 
forms  appeal  to  the  mind,  2,  3, 
196  ;  its  use  of  ethics  and  learn- 
ing, 256-265  ;  not  injured  by  cul- 
ture and  learning,  227-232,  265  ; 
no  substitute  for  religion,  136  \ 
observation  and  information  help 
it*  133,  135,  265  ;  personal  effects 
of,  234-240  ;  subject-matter  of, 
141  ;  tends  to  ideality  rather  than 
faith,  159-163. 

Art  in  Theory,  Raymond,  4,  5,  69, 
94,  203,  210,  272,  273,  320,  376, 
435,  436,  455,  469- 

Art,  its  Laws  and  the  Reasons  for 
Them,  Long,  326,  353,  355,  359, 
374- 

Art  of  Poetry,  Horace,  332. 

Artist,  the,  as  born,  217-220;  as 
made,  131-133,  220-232,  265- 
267  ;  characteristics  of,  129,  131- 
134,  238-240,  246-250;  charac- 
terized by  sentiment,  255,  256; 
characterized  by  subconscious 
mentality,  71,  72,  129,  131-134, 
149-154,  210-229  I  emotive  sus- 
ceptibility of,  217,  244,  246  ;  eth- 
ical and  religious  aims  of,  263- 
266  ;  harmony  in,  between  con- 
scious and  subconscious  mental 
action,  133-135,  155,  156,  159- 
161,  210,  211,  271  ;  information 
of,  133  ;  interested  in  technique, 
244  ;  memory  of,  228,  229  ;  men- 
tal ability  of,  133,  134  ;  need  of 
education  and  training  in,  220— 
229,  265,  266 ;  versus  scientist, 
129,  133,  139,  140,  144,  148-150, 
172,  211-220,  234,  235,  253,  254; 
versus  teacher  of  religion,  131- 
136.  See  Art,  Artistic,  Genius, 
and  Subconscious. 

Artistic-Artistic  tendency  in  art, 
271-274,  311,  384. 

Artistic  Conceptions,  owing  to  com- 
paratively harmonious  blending  of 
conscious  and  subconscious  mental 
influences,  62-64,  87,  94,  129, 
133-135,  155,  156,  159-161,  210, 
211,  -271  ;  versus  religious,  62— 
64,  87,  88,  94,  133-135,  155,  156, 


INDEX. 


495 


Artistic  Conceptions  —  Continued. 
159-161,  174,  175,  210,  271  ;  ver- 
sus scientific,  62-64,  87,  88,  94, 
137,  139,  146,  I5J-I55,  164,  165, 
171-180,  193,  194,  211-213,  271, 
272. 

Artistic  Inspiration,  65,  107,  227  ; 
versus  religious,  iv.,  72,  131-136. 

Artistic  Mind  versus  scientific,  their 
methods,  148-150,  153,  154,  172, 
218-220. 

Artistic  Observation  7;ersus  scien- 
tific, iv.,  v.,  164-178. 

Artistic  Significance,  62-64,  208- 
268.  See  Artistic  Conceptions. 

Artistic  Temperament,  210,  216- 
220;  all  children  have,  218;  dif- 
fers from  scientific  in  degree  of 
emotive  susceptibility,  219  ;  indi- 
vidual, yet  reflective  of  nature, 
234,  235  J  °r  °f  other  men,  248  ; 
not  injured  by  cultivation,  227- 
232  ;  not  manifested  physically 
alone,  216,  217. 

Artistic  Truth,  source  of,  94  ;  versus 
religious  and  scientific  as  affected 
by  temperament  and  training, 
224-232,  234,  235. 

Arts,  the,  as  distinguished  from 
one  another  in  motive,  434-491  ; 
in  time  and  space,  434,  435. 

As  You  Like  It,  Shakespeare,  264, 
321. 

Assyria,  religion  of,  89,  100. 

Athena  of  Capitol,  statue,  485. 

Atherstone,  450,  452. 

Atonement,  necessity  for,  exempli- 
fied in  hypnotism,  183. 

Attila,  Defeat  of,  Raphael,  364. 

Aurora,  Guido,  354. 

Aurora  Leigh,  Mrs.  Browning,  323, 
346. 

Australia,  religion  of,  89,  100. 

Automatic  writing  of  spiritualists, 
80,  104. 


Bain,  296,  303. 
Baptistery  at  Florence,  368. 
Baptists,  Seventh-Day,  132. 
Barateau,  342. 
Bardeen,  299,  303. 


Barry,  374. 

Bascom,  280,  378. 

Baudelaire,  328. 

Bavaria,  statue,  367. 

Beattie,  336. 

Beautiful,  the,  274,  276,  284,  299, 
311  ;  includes  the  sublime,  284— 
286. 

Beauty,  205,  206  ;  in  art  not  incon- 
sistent with  representing  analogy, 
205  ;  relative  use  in  art  of  it,  and 
of  ugliness,  206. 

Beauty,  Science  of,  Bascom,  280, 
378. 

Beecher,  H.  W.,  84,  236;  his  ora- 
tory, 411,  413,  414;  his  training, 
226. 

Beethoven,  201,  231,  247,  309,  351, 
466  ;  his  training,  223,  224. 

Beggar  Boys,  Murillo,  361. 

Bias  of  mind  interferes  with  obtain- 
ing spiritual  truth,  108,  109. 

Bible,  cannot  be  interpreted  as 
scientific  statements,  177-181  ; 
Coleridge's  test  of  its  truth,  46  ; 
criticism  of  its  poetry  by  Huxley, 
138  ;  development  of  truth  in, 
112-114  ;  discrepancies  appear 
because  of  literalism  of  interpre- 
tation, 1 80,  181  ;  explained  by 
suggestive  interpretation,  176— 
181,  184,  185,  187,  188  ;  expres- 
sion of  truth  in,  41-49,  54,  55, 
114,  115  ;  higher  criticism  of,  42, 
119  ;  how  inspired,  109-128  ;  how 
to  be  interpreted  as  shown  by  its 
arguments,  43-45  ;  its  history,  41, 
42  ;  its  injunctions,  45-48 ;  its 
prophecies,  42,  43  ;  its  use  of  the 
word  truth,  48,  49  ;  legends  and 
myths  in,  119-121;  no  objection 
to  associating  it  with  occult  men- 
tal action,  115-118  ;  statements  in, 
as  affected  by  environment,  109, 
no,  113,  114;  tests  of  its  truth, 
122-128. 

Bigotry,  123,  188. 

Bingen  on  Rhine,  monument,  481. 

Biographia  Literaria,  Coleridge,  67. 

Bishops,  On  the  Irish,  Swift,  306. 

Blair,  312,   326. 

Blanc,  C.,  374. 


496      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 


Bodily  influence  upon  artistic  sig- 
nificance, 208-268. 

Borough,  Crabbe,  447. 

Brain,  two  lobes  in,  65  ;  size  of,  as 
determining  ability,  221,  222. 

Bridge,  The,  Longfellow,  197. 

Bridge  of  Sighs,  Hood,  289. 

Brilliancy,  characteristic  of  genius, 
250,  307. 

Brilliant,  the,  274,  281-290,  293, 
294,  299,  301,  302,  307,  311,  389  ; 
its  relation  to  the  sublime  and 
the  picturesque,  274,  282. 

British  Quarterly,  299,  303. 

Brown,  J.  G.,  361. 

Browne.  C.  F.,  301. 

Browning,  E.  B.,  323,  346. 

Browning,  R.,  242,  243,  323,  346, 
347  ;  his  obscurity  artistic,  214  ; 
use  of  ellipsis,  214,  401,  402. 

Brunelleschi,  266. 

Bryant,  143,  335. 

Buddhist  religion,  64,  89. 

Bull,  the  rhetorical,  292. 

Bulwer,  324,  447. 

Burke,  277-279,  284. 

Burlesque,  the,  292,  295,  296,  305. 

Burning  of  Borgo,  Raphael,  364. 

Burns,  321,  336,  337  ;  realistic,  337  ; 
not  wholly  uneducated,  266. 

Bust,  the,  203. 

Butler,  306. 

Byron,  237,  324,  336,  337,447,  4§3  ; 
defects  in  his  poetry,  465  ;  prefer- 
ence of  foreigners  for,  462,  463  ; 
versus  Tennyson,  462-465. 


Campbell,  333,  336. 

Canon,  350. 

Canova,  486. 

Canterbury  Tales,  337. 

Capitol  at  Washington,  368,  484, 
486. 

Capriccio,  350. 

Caravaggio,  363. 

Card  Players,  Caravaggio,  363. 

Caricature,  305,  306,  309. 

Carlyle,  195,  214. 

Catholics,  108,  128. 

Ceremonial,  not  religious  but  ar- 
tistic, 176,  177. 


Chadbourne,  229. 

Chaignet,  278,  285,  286,  339. 

Chaldee  account  of  Creation,  119- 
121  ;  seer,  120,  121. 

Chamouni,  Hymn  in  the  Vale  of, 
Coleridge,  278. 

Change  not  inconsistent  with  abso- 
luteness or  eternity  of  truth,  5 1-56. 

Chapin,  E.  H.,  oratory  of ,  412. 

Character,  as  manifested  in  deeds, 
23,  24  ;  divine,  as  manifested  in 
nature,  23-25. 

Character-painting,  325,  361,  362 ; 
-sculpture,  325,  369. 

Charge  of  Light  Brigade,  Tennyson, 
345- 

Charity,  Intellectual,  123. 

Chaucer,  337. 

Chesterfield,  Letter  to,  Johnson, 
307. 

Chevy-chace,  ballad,  344. 

Childe  Harold,  Byron,  336,  483. 

Children,  naturally  artistic,  212, 
218. 

Childhood,  second,  owing  to  physi- 
cal weakness,  222. 

Chinese  religion,  89. 

Chord,  musical,  as  basis  of  melody, 
405,  406. 

Choron,  musical  writer,  350. 

Chorus,   producing   effect  of   unity, 

394,  395- 

Christ,  the,  his  arguments,  44,  45  ; 
parables,  42,  44  ;  use  of  word 
truth,  48,  49  ;  was  the  truth  be- 
cause full  of  love,  and  was  the 
life,  49,  56,  57. 

Christian,  faith,  157,  158,  160  ; 
Scriptures,  89,  103,  104,  no,  in. 
See  Bible. 

Christians,  64,  in. 

Christmas  carols  at  Rome,  202. 

Churchill,  J.  W.,  74. 

Churchman,  zealous,  justified,  123. 

Clairvoyants,  129. 

Claude,  356,  422. 

Claude-Lorraine-glass,  422. 

Clemens,  S.  L.,  299. 

Cliffs,  On  the,  Swinburne,  335. 

Climbing  Boy's  Soliloquies,  Mont- 
gomery, 397. 

Cloud,  The,  Shelley,  344. 


INDEX. 


497 


Clouds,  To  the,  Wordsworth,  139. 

Cole's  Voyage  of  Life,  418,  419, 
478. 

Coleridge,  46,  67,  236,  278. 

Cologne  Cathedral,  381. 

Color,  harmony  of,  as  resulting  from 
harmony  in  vibrations,  68,  69. 

Columbus,  Life  of,  on  bronze  doors, 
484. 

Comedy,  pure,  297. 

Comic,  308,  309. 

Commemorative  Architecture,  325, 
382  ;  Sculpture,  325,  368. 

Communications  of  animals,  97-99. 

Comparison,  superficial  and  organic, 
197,  199,  200. 

Compilation  of  the  Bible,  121. 

Conceptions,  63.  See  Artistic,  Re- 
ligious, and  Scientific. 

Confucius,   in. 

Congenial,  the,  as  manifested  in 
genius,  249,  250. 

Conscience,  as  related  to  the  sub- 
conscious, 109,  no,  156-161  ; 
meaning  of,  156-159;  the  wise 
and  good  least  conscious  of,  109, 
no. 

Conscious  mental  action,  as  related 
to  subconscious,  64-66,  86—88,  93- 
98  ;  comparatively  harmonious 
blending  of  it  with  subconscious 
action  in  imaginative  art,  62-64, 

87,  94,   129-136,    155,   156,    159- 

161,  210,     211,    222-229,     271  ; 
corrects  that   which    comes   from 
subconscious  action,  as  in  hypno- 
tism,  106,    108-111,    113  ;   devel- 
oped at  same  time  as  subconscious, 
222-230  ;  exerts   a   strong    influ- 
ence in  the  educated  or  the  good, 
92,  109,  no;  its  influence  subor- 
dinate to  that  of  the  subconscious 
in  religion,  87,  93,  94,  131,  156- 

162,  175,  271  ;  supreme  over  that 
of  the  subconscious  in  science,  87, 

88,  94,    137,    139,   144-146,   148- 
151.  153,  155,  2?i,  272. 

Consciousness  as  related  to  con- 
science, 156-161  ;  coming  to,  157. 

Constructive  elements  of  outline  un- 
derlying effects  in  all  arts  of 
sight,  370-385. 


Contrast,  artistic  effects  of,  202,  203. 
Conversion,  through  hypnotism,  182, 

183. 

Coriolanus,  Shakespeare,  290. 
Corneille,  443,  476. 
Cornhill  Magazine,  302. 
Correggio,  245,  356,  379. 
Corsair,  The,  324,  447,  465. 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  Burns,  336. 
Coupland,  W.  C.,  70. 
Cours  d'  Esthetique,  Jouffroy,  278. 
Course  of  Time,  Pollok,    163,    257, 

327- 

Cowper,  304,  332,  447. 

Crabbe,  237,  439,  447. 

Crawford,  369. 

Creation  of  world  from  nothing, 
explained  according  to  hypnotism, 
184  ;  order  of,  according  to  psy- 
chometry,  120. 

Creeds,  cannot  contain  all  the  truth, 
40,  41,  50,  51,  113-115  ;  may  tend 
to  spiritual  death,  187-189  ;  ne- 
cessity for  freedom  from  formulae, 
50-60,  187-189;  not  religious  but 
scientific,  176,  177  ;  significance 
of,  is  beneath  the  form  of  state- 
ment, 30,  31,  40,  46,  47,  50-60, 
114,115.  See  Freedom. 

Criticism,  higher,  42,  119-122. 

Critics,  popular,  461  ;  often  the 
worst,  461. 

Critique  of  Judgment,  Kant,  277, 
278,  284,  286. 

Crucifixion,  Rubens,  364. 

Cultivation  as  related  to  artist,  227— 
232. 

Culture,  as  resulting  from  art-study, 
253  ;  meaning  of,  252,  253  ;  not 
produced  by  study  of  science 
alone,  253. 

Cupid  Bending  Bow,  statue,  369. 

Curtis,  G.  W.,  oratory  of,  411. 

Customs,  religious,  as  showing  prim- 
itive beliefs,  100. 

Cymbeline,  Shakespeare,  456. 


Dallas,  E.  S.,  228,  267. 

Dante,  154,  163,  190,  200,  213,  231, 

263,  321. 
Darwin,  29,  138. 


49$       REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 


Davies,  C.,  302. 
Day,  H.  N.,  276,  280,  433. 
Death  of  Ananias,  Raphael,  485. 
Decline  of  Carthage,  Turner,  356. 
Decorative,  painting,  325,  331,  357, 

358  ;  sculpture,  368. 
Delaroche,  354,  419. 
Demon       Possession      and      Allied 

Themes,  Nevius,  81. 
Demosthenes,  225. 
Denner,  359. 
Denton,  W.,  120. 
Dervishes,  Mohammedan,  102. 
Descent   from   the   Cross,    Rubens, 

162,  364,  485. 
Descriptive,  poetry,  325,  331-336  ; 

music,  351. 
Deserted    Village,    Goldsmith,    201, 

336. 

Design,  Lectures  on,  Opie,  475. 
Destiny- Maker,  Raymond,  329. 
Destruction  of  Jerusalem,  Kaul- 

bach,  419,  420,  478. 
Diana  of  the  Louvre,  Statue,  485. 
Dickens,  231,  237,  296. 
Didactic  poetry,  325,  331-333. 
Dirge,  A,  Tennyson,  459. 
Discernment,  spiritual,  41,  43,  114. 
Discobolus,  369. 
Discrepancies  of  the  Bible,  113-115, 

180,  181. 
Distance,  subconscious  apprehension 

of,  74-77,  98,  99- 
Divine    Comedy,    The,     163,    200, 

265,  331. 

Divine  Life,  Intelligence,  and  Char- 
acter as  Represented    in  Natural 

Forms,  15,  21-25. 
Dog,  Methods  of  thought  of  the,  97, 

98. 

Doggerel,  what  it  is,  397,  398. 
Dogmas,  40,  187,  188.     See  Creeds 

and  Formulae. 
Dogmatism,  52. 
Dome,  its  architectural  meaning, 

426. 

Domestic  Asides,  Hood,  307. 
Dora,  Tennyson,  330. 
Doubt  as  means  of  grace,  51. 
Drama,  Greek  versus  English,  and 

law  of  unities,  443-446. 
Dramatic,    273,    311-313,    320-332, 


389;  character  of,  in  art,  315- 
317  ;  in  architecture,  325,  371— 
387  ;  in  music,  325,  351,  352  ;  in 
painting,  325,  353,  360-366  ;  in 
poetry,  325,  338-348,  443~446  ; 
in  sculpture,  325,  369-375. 

Droll,  the,  295,  297,  298,  309. 

Drunkard's  Progress,  engraving, 
476. 

Dryden,  345. 

Dunciad,  Pope,  330. 

Duncombe,  294. 

Dwight,  466. 

Dyer,  J.,  343. 

Dying  Galatian,  or  Gladiator,  369, 
483- 


Ear,  musical  poetry  appealing  to  it 
and  not  to  eye,  454-465. 

Earthly  Paradise,  Morris,  337. 

Eccentricity  attributed  to  artists, 
239,  240. 

Education,  poem  by  West,  143. 

Education,  what  it  means,  220-226. 

Egypt,  religion  of,  89. 

Egyptian,  religion,  100  ;  temples, 
102. 

Elements,  of  Art-Criticism,  Samson, 
147  ;  of  Criticism,  Kames,  254. 

Eleusinian  Mysteries,  101. 

Elizabeth,  Drama  of  Age  of,  446. 

Elliot,  portrait  of,  Reynolds,  359. 

Elocution,  its  gestures,  413,  414 ; 
modulation,  412,  413  ;  movement, 
411,  412;  unity  and  progress  in, 
410-414  ;  -versus  poetry,  471-473; 
with  musical  motive,  472  ;  with 
pictorial  motive,  473. 

Elyseum  conceived  by  ancients,  89. 

Emerson    and     Transcendentalists, 

iv. 

!  Emotion,  artistic,  not  merely  physi- 
cal, 216,  217  ;  always  strong  in 
the  artist,  217,  244,  246  ;  an  ele- 
ment of  sentiment,  254,  255  ;  as 
addressed  in  art,  2-5  ;  as  associ- 
ated with  nature,  5  ;  as  stimulat- 
ing imagination,  211-220  ;  not  in 
distinction  from  thought,  the 
source  of  art,  212—214  ;  often 
means  the  same  as  soul,  211. 


INDEX. 


499 


Emotive,  the,  versus  the  instinctive 
and  reflective,  210,  211,  273. 

Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  301. 

English  Composition  and  Rhetoric, 
Bain,  296,  303. 

Entablature,  architecture  of,  with 
horizontality,  325,  377,  380-382. 

Epic,  311-322,  389;  an  early  form 
of  art,  315,  316  ;  character  of, 
313,  314;  in  architecture,  325, 
370,  3?i,  373-38o,  385  ;  in  music, 
325,  349-351  I  in  painting,  325, 
352-357,  360  ;  in  poetry,  325, 
323-331,  338  ;  in  sculpture,  325, 
367,  368  ;  lack  of  rhyme  in  its  po- 
etry, 395  ;  relative  rank  of,  317- 
321  ;  the,  painting  of  the  world, 

355- 

Episcopalians,  128. 

Equipment  of  Cupid,  Titian,  421. 

Essay  on  Man.  Pope,  332,  461. 

Eternal,  the,  as  represented  in  na- 
ture, 13-21. 

Ethan  Allen,  ballad,  Raymond, 
33.8. 

Ethical,  the,  as  used  in  art,  257- 
265. 

Euripides,  443. 

Evening,  Claude,  356. 

Everett,  E.,  oratory  of,  410,  411. 

Excursion,  Wordsworth,  257,  335, 
448,  449  ;  general  plan  of,  446, 

447- 

Existence  as  suggested  by  nature,  6. 

Expression,  arts  of,  209  ;  its  mean- 
ing, 209,  272. 

Eye,  poetry  should  appeal  to  it,  as 
words  do,  454-465. 


Faerie  Queen,  Spenser,  330,  350. 

Faith,  40,  64,  155-163  ;  Christian, 
J57>  r58,  1 60 ;  free,  124,  181, 
182,  184 ;  influenced  by  sugges- 
tion, 176-190  ;  living  and  pro- 
gressive, 51-53,  187-189;  relation 
to  fidelity  and  faithfulness,  158  ; 
to  hypnotism,  176,  181-183  ;  to 
practice,  158,  181-189  ;  to  sal- 
vation, 185,  1 86  ;  versus  ideality, 
155-163  ;  versus  knowledge,  55, 
56,  155,  187,  188. 


Faithless  Sally  Brown,  Hood,  295. 

Fakirs,  Indian,  102. 

Fall  of  Nineveh,  Atherstone,  450, 
452. 

Fantasia,  325,  350. 

Farce,  the,  293,  294,  305. 

Farewell,  The,  Tennyson,  343. 

Fawn,  statue,  369. 

Fergusson,  490. 

Fernando  and  Elvira,  Gilbert,  300. 

Fine  Arts,  Wyatt,  380. 

First  Break  with  the  British,  Ray- 
mond, 338. 

First  Principles,  Spencer,  165. 

Florence,  Baptistery  at,  486  ;  tomb 
of  Giuliano  de'  Medici,  368. 

Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall,  Ten- 
nyson, 145. 

Force  as  suggested  by  nature,  6- 
II. 

Form,  as  connected  with  ideality, 
161,  165,  167  ;  essential  to  an 
artistic  conception,  133,  160,  161, 
190,  194  ;  essential  to  an  ideal, 
165,  167  ;  meaning  of  the  word  as 
used  in  art,  1-3,  5,  12. 

Forms,  of  art  as  suggesting  signifi- 
cance, 1-4,  69,  190,  191, 195-207  ; 
of  nature  as  representing  the  di- 
vine life,  intelligence,  and  charac- 
ter, 15,  21-25  I  °f  nature  as  rep- 
resenting the  infinite,  eternal,  and 
absolute,  15-21  ;  of  nature  as  rep- 
resenting truth,  26-32,  51-55,  114, 
115  ;  of  nature  as  suggesting  sig- 
nificance, 5-11,  15-32,  54-58,  198; 
of  nature  do  not  infallibly  embody 
divine  purposes,  114,  115. 

Formulae,  cannot  contain  all  the 
truth,  40,  41,  50,  51,  113-115; 
may  tend  to  spiritual  death,  187— 
189  ;  necessity  for  freedom  from, 
50-60,  187-189  ;  not  religious  but 
scientific,  176,  177  ;  significance 
of,  is  beneath  them,  30,  31 ,  40,  46, 
47,  50-60,  114,  115. 

Formulation,  logical,  64,  139,  146, 
150,  174,  175,  177-179,  IQ2,  193, 
206,  207  ;  not  possible  to  the 
phases  of  truth  needed  in  art  and 
religion,  152,  153,  175-181. 

Fox,  C.  J.,  228. 


500       REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 


Freedom  of  mind  when  controlled 
by  art,  241  ;  by  faith,  124,  181, 
182,  184. 

Freeman,  E.  A.,  377,  378,  380,  382- 

384- 

Friends,  the,   or  Quakers,  108,  132. 

Friendship,  as  connected  with  know- 
ledge of  God  and  truth,  57,  58. 

Fugue,  325,  350. 

Fuseli,  313,  353,  355,  358,  360,  364. 

Future,  foretold,  77-79  ;  life  deter- 
mined by  present  life,  185,  186. 


Galatea  and  Pygmalion,  217. 
Garden   of   Cymodoce,    Swinburne, 

335- 

Gardener's  Daughter,  Tennyson, 
242,  282. 

Gavazzi,  Father,  oratory  of,  413. 

Gay,  J.,  141. 

Gay  Science,  Dallas,  228,  267. 

Genesis,  description  of  knowledge  of 
good  and  evil,  96  ;  poetry  in,  396. 

Genesis  of  Art-Form,  The,  Ray- 
mond, 340,  392,  492. 

Genial,  geniality,  significance  of,  and 
connection  with  genius,  249,  250. 

Genius,  allied  to  insanity,  107  ;  cre- 
ative and  divine,  186  ;  eccentricity 
of,  239,  240  ;  methods  of  work  of, 
218,219;  needs  training  and  prac- 
tice, 131,223-227  ;  related  to  sub- 
conscious and  unconscious  mental 
action,  131,  225-229;  what  it  is, 
147,  247-250.  See  Artist. 

Genre  painting,  362. 

Gerome,  361. 

Gertrude  of  Wyoming,  Campbell, 
336. 

Gesture  in  oratory,  413,  414. 

Ghiberti,  368. 

Ghost  in  Macbeth,  75. 

Gifts,  spiritual,  129. 

Gilbert,  297,  300. 

Gilpin,  John,  Cowper,  304. 

Giuliano  de'  Medici,  tomb  of,  368. 

Glasse  of  Time,  Peyton,  327. 

Gnosticism,  102,  103. 

Goethe,  154,  213,  220,  230,  231,  247, 
254,  265,  321,  445,  446. 

Goldsmith,  201,  298,  336. 


Good,  the,  274,  275,  284,  297,  311, 

389- 

Good-Natured  Man,  Goldsmith,  298. 
Gothic    Architecture    as    dramatic, 

383-387. 
Gough,  J.  B.,  oratory  of,  411,  413, 

414. 

Government,  Vedder,  353. 
Grammar  of  Painting  and  Engrav- 
ing, Blanc,  374. 
Grand,  the,  274,  275,  284,  286-288, 

290,  293,  295,  297,  311,  312,  389. 
Gray's  Elegy,  parody  on,  294. 
Greece,  89,  104. 
Greek,  architecture,  325,  380,  382, 

385,  386  ;  law  of  unities,  443-446. 
Greeks,  the,  100. 
Gregorian  chant,  162. 
Grongar  Hill,  Dyer,  343. 
Grotesque,  the,  295,  296,  305,  308, 

309- 

Guido,  354. 
Gurney,  77,  308. 
Guy  Mannering,  Scott,  141,  236. 


Hades,  Greek  and  Roman,  89. 

Hallucinations,  99. 

Hamilton,   Sir  W.,   154,   170,   172, 

279,  280,  284,  285. 
Hamlet,  Shakespeare,  287,  288,  298, 

305. 

Hamlet's  Soliloquy,  parody  on,  294. 

Hammond,  398. 

Handel,  201,  351. 

Harlot's  Progress,  Hogarth,  478, 
484. 

Harmony,  69. 

Hart,  326. 

Hartmann,  Von,  70. 

Haydn,  composer,  309,  351,  466; 
poem,  441. 

Hazlitt's  Criticism  of  Wordsworth, 
448. 

Hebraic,  Compilers  of  Bible,  121  ; 
laws  against  sorcery  and  witch- 
craft, 82-85  >  prophets  and  Scrip- 
tures, 89,  104,  110-114,  119-121. 

Hebrews,  104;  their  character  as  in- 
fluenced by  written  Scriptures, 
in. 

Hegel,  29. 


INDEX. 


501 


Henry  VIII.,  Shakespeare,  263,  457; 
i  Henry  IV.,  201,  258,  283;  I 
Henry  VI.,  307  ;  2  Henry  VI., 
263  ;  3  Henry  VI.,  289,  456. 

Herder,  43. 

Heroic,  poetry,  325,  330,  331  ;  paint- 
ing, 325,  355,  356  ;  sculpture,  325, 
367,  368.  See  Epic. 

Hidden  Region  of  Mind,  64,  65. 
See  Subconscious. 

Higher  Criticism,  42,  119-122. 

Hindoos,  their  religion,  64. 

Historic,  art,  312,  325  ;  painting, 
325,  353,  359-361,  363;  sculp- 
ture, 325,  368. 

History  in  the  Bible,  its  inspirational 
purpose,  41,  42. 

History  of  Ancient  Art,  Winckel- 
mann,  286. 

Hogarth,  309,  478,  484. 

Holy  Night,  Correggio,  356,  379. 

Homer,  143,  247,  321,  326,  331  ; 
his  descriptions,  442,  443,  446. 

Hood,  289,  295,  300,  307. 

Hope,  Guido,  354. 

Horace,  332. 

Horatii,  The,  Corneille,  476. 

Horatius  at  the  Bridge,   Macaulay, 

471- 

Horizontal  Support,  architecture  of, 

325,  380-382. 
Horrible,   the,  275,   287,   289,    290, 

3"- 

Hudibras,  Butler,  306. 

Hudson,  T.  J.,  83,  176,  181. 

Human  Form,  as  expressing  signifi- 
cance in  movements  and  postures, 
373-375  I  physical  as  influencing 
art-conceptions,  208-269. 

Humanities,  the,  3,  242. 

Humanity,  influenced  in  art,  209. 

Humor,    294,    295,    298-304,    306- 

309- 

Huxley,  138,  139,  144,  150,  164. 

Hypnotism,  67,  68,  176,  181  ;  as 
affording  possible  explanations  of 
certain  religious  doctrines,  I2O, 
181-187  ;  as  related  to  faith,  176, 
181—186 ;  its  control  over  mind 
exercised  through  suggestion,  68- 
70,  105-110,  176,  177,  181-186; 
method  of  communication  of  ani- 


mals, 97-99  ;  of  spiritualism,  79, 
83,  107-109  ;  partakes  of  nature 
of  art,  68,  69,  132  ;  physical  in 
character,  68,  182  ;  the  truth  of  its 
reports  from  the  subconscious  de- 
pends on  the  truth  of  the  premise 
suggested  to  the  one  hypnotized, 
105-109,  150,  151  ;  subconscious 
processes  of  memory  and  logic  re- 
vealed by  it,  aside  from  premise, 
seem  flawless,  105,  106,  150,  221  ; 
while  controlling  the  mind,  leaves 
it  free  and  individual,  181,  182, 
184. 
Hypnotizer,  his  methods,  68,  69. 


Ideal  in  Art,  The,  Taine,  317,  433. 

Idealism,  273,  274,  312,  324. 

Ideality,  64,  190,  191,  195,  196,  234  ; 
as  related  to  religion,  159-163, 
166-169  I  as  related  to  science, 
170-173  ;  versus  faith,  155,  159- 
163  ;  versus  knowledge,  165-173. 

Idealized  Realism,  273,  274,  324. 

Ideals,  234;  denned,  161,  165,  167  ; 
in  this  world  determine  life  in 
next,  186. 

Ideals  Made  Real,  Raymond,  441. 

Idyls,  of  the  King,  Tennyson,  330, 
331  ;  of  Theocritus,  330. 

Iliad,  143,  263,  265,  327,  331,  395, 
442,  443,  476,  478,  479. 

II  Penseroso,  Milton,  248,  457. 

Image  in  the  mind  in  imagination, 
2,  3- 

Imagination,  2,  3,  63,  87  ;  an  aid  to 
science,  151-154,  170-173  ;  crea- 
tivewhen,  in  form  and  significance, 
continuing  work  of  creation,  198  ; 
connected  with  emotion,  211-220  ; 
developed  from  subconscious  in 
connection  with  conscious  mental 
action,  129,  130,  149-155,  210, 
211,  213-215,  223-227,  229  ; 
divine  because  creative,  186  ;  im- 
proved by  training,  226-229  ;  in- 
dividuality of  effect  of  artist's, 
234-250  ;  not  injured  by  scientific 
study  or  learning,  230,  231  ;  not 
untrue  nor  irrational,  149,  150, 
212  ;  perceives  definite  pictures  in 


5<D2       REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 


Imagination — Continued. 

poetry,  455-465  ;  one  source  of  be- 
lief in  immortality,  90,  152-154  ; 
versus  religious  inspiration,  127- 
136,  155,  159,  271,  272;  versus 
investigation,  137-155,  165,  170- 
172,  193,  194,  210,  211,  271,  272  ; 
why  a  substitute  for  investigation, 
'149,  167,  170;  why  for  experi- 
ence, 212,  213.  See  Art,  and 
Artistic  Conceptions. 

Imaginative  minds  as  unpractical, 
intuitive,  prescient,  inventive, 
spiritual,  151-154. 

Immaculate  Conception,  Murillo, 
356,  379- 

Immortality,  89.  See  Life  after 
Death. 

Immortality,  Intimations  of,  Words- 
worth, 96,  145. 

Import,  as  suggested  in  art,  388—431  ; 
in  nature,  13-25  ;  spiritual,  64. 

Incongruity,  the  basis  of  the  playful 
in  art,  292,  293,  299,  300,  308, 
309. 

Indians,  religion  of,  99,  no. 

Individual  interest  awakened  by  the 
statue,  484-487. 

Individuality  of  effect  in  art,  234- 
240  ;  not  in  conflict  with  represent- 
ing natural  appearances,  238-240; 
nor  with  general  effects,  245-250. 

Inferno,  Dante,  265.  See  Divine 
Comedy. 

Infinite,  as  represented  in  nature, 
13-21. 

Information,  previous,  as  a  test  of 
truth,  but  to  be  used  with  charity, 
122-125  !  indispensable  to  artist, 
133,  228,  229. 

Innocence,  Raphael,  354. 

Innocents  Abroad,  Clemens,  299. 

Innuendo,  307. 

Insight,  spiritual,  as  a  test  of 
truth,  31,  125,  126. 

Inspiration,  63,  87,  133-136  ;  allied 
to  results  of  hypnotism,  107  ;  artis- 
tic, iv.,  65,  71,  72,  107,  131-134, 
226,  227  ;  attributed  to  insanity, 
idiocy,  and  genius,  107;  attributed 
to  subconscious  action,  107,  131— 
133,  226,  227  ;  Biblical,  109-128; 


divine  and  not  divine,  75  ;  im- 
proved by  practice,  227  ;  in  com- 
pilation of  the  Bible,  121  ;  influ- 
ence of  environment  on  divine, 
112-114;  its  spiritual  influence  is 
by  way  of  suggestion,  175-184  ; 
religious  versus  artistic,  65-72  ; 
religious,  is  rational,  109-113  ; 
tests  of  truth  of  Biblical,  122-128; 
truth  of,  interpreted  by  conscious 
action  of  some  mind,  103,  note, 
107-118,  122-128  ;  truth  of,  modi- 
fied by  character  and  thought  of 
the  inspired  person,  112-114; 
truth  of  religious,  does  not  always 
depend  on  intelligence  or  ability 
of  inspired  person,  133  ;  versus 
imagination,  87,  88,  128-136,  155, 
159-161,  272  ;  versus  investiga- 
tion, 155,  271,  272.  See  Bible, 
Religion,  and  Religious  Concep- 
tions. 

Inspirational  Preachers  and  their 
training,  227. 

Instinct  and  Reason,  Marshall,  92. 

Instinct  in  animals  and  man,  93. 

Instructive  tendency,  93-95,  229  ; 
allied  to  religious,  94-100  ;  versus 
the  emotive  and  the  reflective,  93- 
95,  210,  211,  272,. 

Introduction  a  1'  Etude  de  la  Mu- 
sique,  Choron,  350. 

Intuitive  insight  as  a  test  of  truth, 
125,  126. 

Investigation,  63,  87,  138,  164 ; 
aided  by  art,  151-154,  171-173, 
218,  219  ;  an  aid  to  art,  133,  134, 
229,  231;  versus  imagination,  137— 
155,  165,  170-172,  193,  194,  211, 
271,272.  See  Science,  and  Scien- 
tific. 

Iphigenia  in  Tauris,  Goethe,  445, 
446. 

Irony,  306. 

Italy,  A  Song  of,  Swinburne,  460. 


Jago,  294. 

Japanese  Religion,  89. 

Jessen,  70. 

Jesus.     See  Christ. 

Jewess,  story  of  a,  76. 


INDEX. 


503 


Jewish    Cemetery,    The,    Ruysdael, 

356. 

Joan  of  Arc,  105. 
Jocular,  the,  295,  297. 
Johnson,  307. 
Josephine,  Empress,  78. 
Joshua,  a  relief,  476,  484. 
Jouffroy,  278,  285. 
Journal  of  Music,  466. 
Julius  Caesar,  Shakespeare,  178. 
Justice,  Raphael,  354. 


Kames,  254. 

Kanawha,  78. 

Kant,  104,  277,  278,  284,  286. 

Karge,  75,  76. 

Kaulbach,  354,  419. 

Keats,  337. 

Kepler,  71. 

King  John,  Shakespeare,  456. 

Kingsley,  341. 

Klopstock,  163. 

Knight,  144. 

Knowledge,  characteristic  of  Sci- 
ence, 64,  155,  156,  164,  165  ; 
of  God,  what  it  is,  56-58  ;  of 
good  and  evil,  96  ;  versus  faith, 
J55>  I5°,  187,  188  ;  versus  ideal- 
ity, 164-172. 

Kugler,  362,  421. 


Lady  of  the  Lake,  Scott,  346,  399. 

Landscape-Gardening,  in  England, 
333>  334  »  significance  of,  distin- 
guished from  that  of  painting  or 
sculpture,  474,  475  ;  time  sug- 
gested in,  416,  417  ;  unity  and 
progress  in,  415-417. 

Landscapes,  dramatic,  364-366  ; 
epic,  356,  357  ;  realistic,  358. 

Laocoon,  criticism,  vii.,  236,  285, 
421,  434-436,  442,  443,  454J 
statue,  204,  285,  369,  375,  424, 488. 

Last  Judgment,  Angelo,  48,  277. 

Law  of  Psychic  Phenomena,  The, 
Hudson,  83,  176,  181. 

Lawrence,  A.,  Size  of  Brain,  221, 
222. 

Lay  Sermons,  Addresses,  and  Re- 
views, Huxley,  138. 


Learning,  as  expressed  in  art-pro- 
ducts, especially  poetry,  256-266  ; 
as  influencing  the  artist,  226-232. 

Leaving  for  Work,  Millet,  420. 

Legend  of  King  Arthur,  397. 

Legends  of  the  Bible,  119-121. 

Lemon,  Mark,  304. 

Leonardo,  213. 

Les  Principes  de  la  Science  du  Beau, 
Chaignet,  278,  285,  339. 

Lessing,  vii.,  51,  236,  285,  421,  443, 
454  ;  theory  of,  434-436,  442. 

Liberty,  Christian,  177,  181,  182, 
187,  188. 

Liberty  Enlightening  the  World, 
statue,  367,  488. 

Life,  as  suggested  in  art-forms,  390- 
431  ;  by  nature,  9-11  ;  character 
of,  after  death,  determined  by  be- 
lief and  character  in  this  world, 
185,  1 86  ;  on  earth  as  connected 
with  that  above,  56-60 ;  sources 
of  belief  in  future,  89-92  ;  spirit- 
ual, dependent  on  freedom  from 
formulae,  50-60 ;  spiritual,  influ- 
enced by  suggestion,  187-190  ; 
truth  involves  it,  48-60. 

Lightning  Calculators,  72,  93,  105. 

Lincoln,  181,  184  ;  his  dream,  79. 

Lion  Hunt,  Rubens,  364. 

Liszt,  351,  466. 

Literalism  in  interpreting  the  Bible, 
and  its  evils,  176-184,  187. 

Literary  Interpretation  of  the  Bible, 
177-179,  181. 

Lochinvar,  Scott,  471. 

Locksley  Hall,  Tennyson,  343. 

Logical  Inference,  or  reasoning,  a 
test  of  truth,  126,  127.  See  For- 
mulation. 

Lohengrin,  Wagner,  410. 

Long,  326,  338,  353,  355,  359,  374. 

Longfellow,  197,  199,  202,  203, 
342,  458. 

Lost  Love,  The,  Wordsworth,  288. 

Lotus  Eaters,  The,  Tennyson,  142, 

45i. 
Love,    connection   between     it   and 

the  truth,  56-58. 
Lover's  Journey,  Crabbe,  439. 
Love  thou  thy  Land,  Tennyson,  459. 
Lowell,  284. 


504      REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 


I.ucile,  324,  447. 

Ludicrous,  the,  292,  293,  295-305. 

Ludlow.  75. 

Luini,  Bernardino,  477. 

Lyric,  cry,  339  ;    poetry,  325,  339- 

345-  364,  365- 
Lytton,  324. 


Mab,  Queen,  Shelley,  453. 

Macaulay,  471. 

Macbeth,     Shakespeare,    289,    348, 

456  ;  ghost  in,  75. 
Madoc  in  Wales,  Southey,  450. 
Making  of  a  Book,  Alexander,   363. 
Malebranche,  51. 
Manfred,  Byron,  237. 
Marjorie,  Little,  Sargent,  362. 
Marmion,  Scott,  447. 
Marquand,  362. 
Marryat,  F. ,  66. 
Marshall,  H.  R.,  92. 
Martin  Chuzzlewit,  Dickens,  237. 
Mason,  Dr.  R.  O.,  182. 
Materialism,  and  belief  in  the  Bible, 

116  ;  evils  of,   and  effects  of  art 

upon,  135,  136. 
Mathematics,  subconscious,  72,  73. 

See  Lightning  Calculators. 
Matter,  6. 

Maud,  Tennyson,  242. 
Mazzuoli,  435. 
Measure  for  Measure,  Shakespeare, 

200. 

Medicine  Man  of  Indians,  100. 

Medium,  spiritual,  79-85,  100-103, 
108-111  ;  untrustworthiness  of 
communications  of,  82-85. 

Meissonier,  359. 

Meistersinger,  The,  Wagner,  308, 
409.  410. 

Melody  deriving  suggestions  of  or- 
ganism and  import  from  its  con- 
nection with  the  chord,  405,  406. 

Memory,  as  influenced  in  hypnotism, 
66-71  ;  its  influence  in  art,  es- 
pecially poetry,  227-229. 

Mendelssohn,  231. 

Merchant  of  Venice,  Shakespeare, 
308. 

Merrill,  328. 

Messiah,  The,  Klopstock,  163. 


Metaphysics,  Lectures  on,  Hamil- 
ton, 154,  170,  279,  280. 

Method  of  operation,  as  determined 
by  appearances  in  time  and  space 
together,  7-9  ;  as  determining  im- 
pressions of  life,  organism,  and 
import  in  nature,  9-11  ;  as  deter- 
mining meanings  of  words,  35-37  ; 
as  determining  significance  in  art, 
390-393  ;  as  determining  truth  in 
the  Bible,  41-49  ;  as  indicating 
the  divine  in  nature,  22-25  I  as> 
suggesting  the  infinite,  eternal, 
and  absolute,  16-21  ;  connection 
between  a  single  and  the  universal, 
J3»  29»  3O»  32,  38,  42,  45  ;  connec- 
tion between  it  and  truth,  25-27, 
29-62. 

Meyers,  77. 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Shake- 
speare, 167. 

Millet,  J.  F.,  361,  365,  420. 

Milton,  24,  130,  134,  154,  163,  185, 
200,  226,  230,  247,  248,  260,  261, 
276,  277,  321,  336,  457,  458,  471. 

Miltonic  character  of  poetry,  23, 
24. 

Mind,  as  addressed  in  art,  2,  3,  196  ; 
conscious,  hidden,  occult,  subcon- 
scious, 64,  65  ;  of  man  and  in 
nature  as  representing  the  divine, 
22-25  ;  receiving  truth  subcon- 
sciously, modifies  it,  106,  108- 
113.  See  Conscious  and  Subcon- 
scious. 

Mind  Readers  or  Reading,  79,  97- 
100,  102,  129. 

Minerva,  Pheidias,  204. 

Minstrel,  The,  Beattie,  336. 

Miracles  and  Modern  Spiritualism, 
Wallace,  108. 

Miserere  sung  at  Rome,  202. 

Mock  Heroic,  the,  293,  294. 

Modulation  in  oratory,  412. 

Mohammed,  105. 

Mohammedan  Architecture,  325, 
386. 

Mohammedans,  64,  104,  105,  128. 

Montgomery,  397. 

Moorish  Architecture,  325,  386. 

Mormons,  64,  128. 

Morris,  337. 


INDEX. 


505 


Morte     d' Arthur,     Tennyson,     258, 

331,  395,  45$. 

Moses,  Angelo,  277,  368,  379,  488. 

Moses,  W.  S.,  So. 

Movement,  accompanying  sugges- 
tions of  non-movement,  or  space- 
effects  in  elocution,  411-414; 
in  music,  403-406  ;  in  poetry, 
260,  399-401,  435-444,44M53; 
natural,  6-n  ;  offsetting  space- 
effects  in  painting,  435-437,  475~ 
479  ;  sculpture,  424,  425. 

Mozart,  his  subconscious  facility,  73, 
223,  224,  247. 

Miiller,  Max,  90. 

Murillo,  356,  361,  379. 

Music,  162,  201,  202,  223-225  ; 
dramatic,  325,  351,  352  ;  distin- 
guished from  poetry,  455-472 ; 
German  versus  French,  407-409  ; 
movement  and  non-movement  as 
represented  in,  403-406  ;  must  not 
move  too  slowly  or  too  rapidly, 
403-406  ;  possible  developments 
in  future  presentation  of,  470  ; 
realistic,  351  ;  source  of  enjoy- 
ment in  imitative  and  naturalistic, 
467,  468  ;  unity  and  progress  in, 
403-410. 

Music  as  a  Representative  Art,  Ray- 
mond, 349,  352,  466,  492. 

Musical  effects  not  all  that  poetry 
needs,  459-485. 

Myths  of  the  Bible,  119-121. 


Napoleonic  characteristics,  23,  24. 
Narrative  poetry,  331,  333. 
National  Library,  Washington,  363, 

367. 

Natural,  the,  in  art,  is  analogical, 
198-205  ;  not  all  the,  is  legitimate 
in  art,  206  ;  scenery,  as  it  should 
be  presented  in  poetry,  333-337  ; 
theology,  and  the  verification  of 
its  claims,  21-25. 

Naturalistic,  325  ;  music,  325,  351  ; 
painting,  325,  357~359  I  poetry, 
325,  331-336  ;  sculpture,  325,  368. 

Nature,  as  regarded  by  the  artist 
and  scientist,  139,  140  ;  including 
the  non-human  and  human,  5  ; 


is  a  source  of  the  significance  of 

art,   5,   130,   160,   161.     See  Art, 

Artistic. 

Nevius,  J.  L.,  81. 
New  Monthly  Magazine,  214. 
Newsboys,  Brown,  361. 
Newton,  219. 

Night  and  Day,  Angelo,  368,  379. 
Night  Thoughts,  Young,  333. 
Nile  of  the  Vatican,  statue,  368. 
Niobe    and    her    Children,    statue, 

369,  424,  481,  485. _ 
North  American  Review,  182. 
Notre  Dame,  Paris,  379. 
Novel,  reformatory  influence  of,  191. 


Obscurity,  in  imaginative  works  the 
appropriate  expression  of  sub- 
conscious intellection,  213—215  ; 
of  Browning  and  Carlyle,  214. 

Occult  region  of  the  mind  and 
nature,  64,  65  ;  theories  with  refer- 
ence to  its  results,  83-85.  See 
Subconscious. 

Odyssey,  331. 

O  Mary,  Go  and  Call  the  Cattle 
Home,  Kingsley,  341. 

Opera,  325,  351,  352,  408-410,468- 
470. 

Operation  as  indicated  in  nature, 
7-1 1,  13.  See  Method  of  Opera- 
tion. 

Opie,  352,  353,  475. 

Oracles  of  ancients,  104. 

Oratorio,  325,  351. 

Oratory,  gestures  in,  413,  414  ; 
modulation  in,  412  ;  time,  move- 
ment, and  rhythm  in,  410-414  ; 
unity  and  progress  in,  410-414  ; 
versus  musical,  poetic,  or  pictorial 
effects,  471-473. 

Organism,  as  suggested  by  art- 
forms,  390-431  ;  by  natural  forms, 
9-i  i. 

Origin  and  Growth  of  Romanesque 
Architecture,  Freeman,  377. 

Origin  of  Species,  Darwin,  138. 

Othello,  Shakespeare,  264,  278,  283. 

Outlines  as  determining  significance 
in  arts  of  sight,  370-385. 

Oxon,  M.  A.,  80. 


506      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 


Painful,  the,  in  art,  justification  for, 
267-269. 

Painters,  individuality  of  great,  238, 
246. 

Painting,  146-148,  162,  191,  203, 
204,  238,  246,  266,  267,  277  ;  dis- 
tinguished from  other  arts,  434 ; 
can  derive  subjects  from  poetry 
sometimes,  but  must  treat  them 
differently,  436,  476-478  ;  cannot 
treat  all  poetic  subjects,  475,  476  ; 
its  treatment  must  be  distin- 
guished from  that  of  architecture, 
482  ;  of  landscape-gardening,  479  ; 
of  poetry,  434-444-  475~479  J  of 
sculpture,  479-482,  484-489; 
space-effects  delineated  in,  418, 
420-425  ;  time-effects  delineated 
in,  435-437,  475-479  \  time-effects 
suggested  in,  418-420;  unity  and 
progress  in,  417-425. 

Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architec- 
ture as  Representative  Arts,  Ray- 
mond, 94,  352,  376,  420,  422, 
426. 

Paintings  must  not  be  too  large, 
488. 

Pantomimic  art,  325  ;  painting,  325, 
362,  363  ;  sculpture,  325,  369. 

Pallas  of  Pheidias,  423. 

Parables  of  Jesus,  what  they  imply 
that  truth  is,  42,  44. 

Paradise,  Lost,  Milton,  134,  163, 
185,  200,  226,  259,  261,  265,  277, 
327,  331,  458  ;  Regained,  260. 

Parallelism,  in  painting,  480 ;  in 
poetry,  395,  396  ;  in  sculpture, 
488. 

Parallels  or  Parables,  44. 

Parody,  293,  294. 

Parting  Song,  Swinburne,  460. 

Pastoral  Symphonies  of  Beethoven 
and  Handel,  351. 

Pathetic,  the,  275,  288,  289,  302, 
303- 

Patience,  Sullivan,  297. 

Peace  and  Prosperity,  Vedder,  353. 

Percy's  Reliques,  344,  397. 

Permanence  in  truth,  52-55. 

Perpendicular  Support,  architecture 
of,  325,  380,  383-387. 

Personal  effects  of  art,  234-240. 


Perugino,  354. 

Peter  Bell,  Wordsworth,  169. 

Peyton,  T.,  327. 

Phantasms  of  the  Living,  Meyers 
and  Gurney,  77. 

Pheidias,  204,  247,  266,  423. 

Phillips,  W.,  oratory  of,  411,  412. 

Philosophy,  Kaulbach,  354. 

Phraseology  of  art  and  religion  not 
literally  true,  177-181.  See  Bible 
Inspiration  and  Literalism. 

Physical  human  action,  conscious 
and  subconscious,  65,  66  ;  effects 
of  hypnotism  on,  68,  69. 

Physiological  effects  of  art,  2. 

Pickwick  Papers,  Dickens,  296. 

Picturesque,  the,  274,  280-283, 
286-290,  293,  294,  299,  301,  302, 
311,  389  ;  versus  statuesque,  479- 
482,  484-489. 

Pierce,  98. 

Pigalle,  486. 

Pilgrim's  Progress,  engraving,  476. 

Piloty,  361. 

Pisano,  368. 

Plato,   154. 

Platonic,  101. 

Platonism,  102. 

Playful,  the,  in  art,  275,  291-309. 

Pleasurable  interspersed  with  non- 
pleasurable  effects  in  art,  275, 
287-289,  293,  305-308. 

Pleasure  as  the  aim  of  art,  267-269. 

Pleasures,  of  Hope,  Campbell,  333  ; 
of  Imagination,  Akenside,  333. 

Pliny,   103. 

Plutarch,  434. 

Poeme  Sympathique,  Liszt,  351. 

Poetic,  effects  not  the  same  as  mu- 
sical, 454-465  ;  language  that  of 
perception,  143,  144 ;  language 
not  that  of  prose,  236-238  ;  repe- 
tition of  words,  phrases,  and 
thoughts  in  the,  394-396. 

Poetry,  134,  138-148,  154,  162,163, 
167-169,  177-179,  181,  190,  191, 
197-201,  236-238,  256-266,  276- 
278,  281-290  ;  appeals  to  imagina- 
tion visually,  455-465  ;  descrip- 
tive, 437-453  ;  distinguished  from 
other  arts,  434  ;  doggerel,  397, 
398  ;  importance  of  movement  in, 


INDEX. 


SO/ 


Poetry  —  Continued. 

43 7-443 ,  446-453  J  not  popular 
to-day,  462  ;  novel  has  taken  its 
former  place,  462  ;  of  Bible,  138, 
395.  3y6  »  space-effects  important 
in,  435-444  ;  subjects  different 
from  painting  and  sculpture,  or,  if 
not,  treated  differently,  436,  476- 
479,  483  ;  versus  elocution,  471  ; 
versus  music,  454-465  ;  versus 
oratory,  471-473  ;  versus  paint- 
ing, 435-444.  475-478  ;  versus 
prose,  236-238  ;  versus  Sculpture, 

483- 

Poetry,  Kaulbach,  354. 

Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art,  Ray- 
mond, 94,  340,  466,  492. 

Poets,  and  memory,  228  ;  born,  not 
made,  216,  217,  247-249  ;  great, 
have  been  men  of  education,  154, 
230,  265,  266  ;  of  individuality, 
235.  236,  240;  sympathetic,  240- 
246;  versus  scientists,  139-141, 
167-171,  256-261. 

Pointed  Arch,  architecture  of,  325, 

377,  383-387-  , 

Pollice  Verso,  Gerome,  361. 

Pollok,  163,  257,  327. 

Polytheism,  its  rise,  102,  103. 

Pope,  Alexander,  236,  293,  330, 
332  ;  his  balance  of  rhythm,  461. 

Pope,  the,  128. 

Popper,  D.,  308. 

Popular  critics,  461  ;  often  the  worst, 
461. 

Popularity  in  art,  245. 

Portraits,  character  of  Titian's,  362, 
421,  422. 

Poussin,  36.1,  374. 

Practical,  the,  reformer,  166. 

Practice,  effects  of,  on  mind  as  well 
as  body,  222-227  ;  leading  to  do 
things  unconsciously,  70-72  ;  ne- 
cessary to  artist,  131,  220-229. 

Prague,  monument  at,  486. 

Praxiteles,  266,  369. 

Preller,  485. 

Prelude,  Wordsworth,  168,  169,  265, 
335,  400,  440. 

Presbyterians,  132. 

Presentation  at  the  Temple,  Luini, 
477- 


Princess,  The,  Tennyson,  281,  324, 
451. 

Principles  of  Psychology,  Spencer, 
94. 

Progress,  art-effect  of,  391-430  ;  re- 
produced in  elocution,  music,  and 
poetry,  391-414  ;  suggested  in 
architecture,  landscape-gardening, 
painting,  and  sculpture,  415-431. 

Progress,  necessary  to  spiritual  life, 
51-55  ;  of  truth  not  inconsistent 
with  permanence,  51-55. 

Prophecy,  artistic,  151  ;  its  purpose 
and  interpretation  in  the  Bible, 
42,  43  ;  spiritualistic,  77,  79,  note. 

Prophets  in  sense  of  inspired  teach- 
ers, no,  112  ;  most  trustworthy 
when  writers,  no.  See  Inspira- 
tion. 

Proportion,  68. 

Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line 
and  Color,  Raymond,  69,  490, 
492. 

Prosaic'  versus  poetical,  142,  143, 
256-261. 

Protactic  poetry,  325,  345,  346. 

Protestant,  in,  128. 

Prudence,  Raphael,  354. 

Psalm,  My,  Whittier,  200. 

Psalm  of  Life,  A,  Longfellow,  458. 

Psychical  Research,  English  Society 
of,  77. 

Psychic  Experience,  99. 

Psychic  Phenomena,  The  Law  of, 
Hudson,  83,  176,  181. 

Psych ography,  Oxon,  80. 

Psychology,  Jessen's,  70  ;  Principles 
of,  Spencer,  94. 

Psychometrist,  77,  129. 

Psychometry,  120. 

Publican,  why  better  than  the 
Pharisee,  50. 

Pun,  the,  293,  294,  305. 

Pygmalion,  217. 

Pythagoras,  8. 

Quackenbos,  299,  324. 
Queen  Mab,  Shelley,  453. 

Racine,  263,  443. 

Rake's  Progress,  Hogarth,  478,  484. 


508      REPRESENTA  TIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 


Rape  of  the  Lock,  Pope,  293. 

Rape  of  the  Sabines,  Poussin,  364. 

Raphael,  204,  213,  231,  245-247, 
266,  354,  361,  364,  419,  482,  485. 

Rational  action  of  mind,  94  ;  in  in- 
spiration, 109-113. 

Raymond,  329,  338,  441. 

Realism,  273,  274  ;  idealized,  273, 

274,  324- 
Realistic  art,  311-315,  319-322,  389  ; 

in  architecture,  370-378,  380-382  ; 

in    painting,   357~36o,  364,   365  ; 

in  poetry,  33i~338,  342-345-  3^4, 

365  ;     in   sculpture,    368  ;    ranks 

high  in  arts  of  sight,  357,  381. 
Reason  versus  instinct,  92-100. 
Reasoning  as  a  test  of   truth,   126, 

127. 
Reflective  versus  instinctive  and 

emotive,    93,  94,    210,    211,  272, 

273- 
Reformation,  The,  Kaulbach,  354, 

419. 
Refrain,  the  effect  of,  in  poetry, 

394,  395- 

Religion,  allied  to  the  instinctive, 
94-100  ;  an  aid  to  art,  136,  231, 
232  ;  art  no  substitute  for  it,  yet 
an  aid  to  it,  135,  136  ;  distin- 
guished from  art,  62-64,  87,  94, 

130,  134,  155-165,  189,  190;  dis- 
tinguished   from    science,    62-64, 
87,    94,    137-165,    174-180,    193, 
194  ;  must  be  rational  and  intelli- 
gent, 109-115,   166,  167  ;  not  ex- 
pressed representatively,  176,  177, 
189,     190;     source    of,    62-129; 
source  of  its  thought  and  emotion, 
62-64,  87-136  ;    tending  to  faith 
not  ideality,  159-163  ;  tending  to 
suggestion    not   knowledge,    175- 
189.     See  Inspiration,  Religious, 
and  Subconscious. 

Religion,  Kaulbach,  354  ;  Raphael, 

354- 
Religious-Artistic  tendency,  271- 

274,  3ii- 

Religious  Conceptions,  as  expressed 
in  art.  256,  257  ;  characterized  by 
subordination  of  conscious  mental 
action  to  subconscious,  87,  93,  94, 

131,  156-162,    175,    271  ;    creeds 


and  ceremonials  are  not  necessa- 
rily expressive  of,  176,  177  ;  de- 
pendent upon  suggestions  of 
material  surroundings,  88,  89, 166, 
167  ;  versus  artistic,  62-64,  84, 
88,  94,  133-135,  155,  156,  159- 
161,  174,  175,  210,  271  ;  versus 
scientific,  62-64,  87,  94,  137-154, 
174-180,  193,  194. 

Rembrandt,  361. 

Renaissance  Architecture,  325, 
386. 

Repetition,  of  rhythm  and  phrase  in 
music,  404-407  ;  of  sounds,  feet, 
lines,  words,  phrases,  and  thoughts 
in  poetry,  392-396. 

Representation,  analogical,  64,  175, 
189-191  ;  artistic,  must  be  distinct, 

322,  433  ;  cause  of  continuing  in- 
fluence of  art-products,  206,  207  ; 
peculiar  to  art,  not  religion,  189- 
191  ;  reformatory  influence  of,  in 
art,  190,  191  ;  suggestive  influence 
of,  190,  191,  241. 

Resentment,  Crabbe,  237. 
Revelation,    believed    to   be    closed 

and  not  closed,  128,  132. 
Revived  Grecian  Architecture,  325, 

386. 

Reynolds,  Sir  J.,  146,  203,  359. 
Rhetoric,    Blair,    312,    326 ;     Hart, 

326 ;     Whately,    393  ;    Complete, 

Bardeen,    299,   303  ;  Welsh,    299, 

302,  303  ;  Composition  and,  Bain, 

296,  303  ;  Quackenbos,  299,  324. 
Rhymes,  poetic  effect  of,  394,  395. 
Rhythm    and    Harmony   in    Poetry 

and    Music,    Raymond,    69,    349, 

352,  466,  492. 
Rhythm,  allied   to  hypnotism,    68  ; 

musical     effects     of,     404,     405  ; 

poetic,  304,   395. 
Richard     II.,      Shakespeare,     263  ; 

Richard  III.,  178,  456. 
Richter,  231. 
Ridiculous,   the,  292,  293,  295,  305- 

307- 
Ring  and  the  Book,  Browning,  242, 

323,  346. 
Rogers,  369. 

Romanesque  Architecture,  325,  385. 
Romans,  ancient,  religion  of,  100. 


INDEX. 


509 


Rome,  art  of  modern,  230;  religion 

of  ancient,  89,  104. 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  Shakespeare,  283, 

305. 

Rosengarten,  386. 

Rottmann,  204,  366. 

Royal    Academicians,    Lectures   be- 
fore, Barry,  374. 

Rubens,  162,  266,  361,  364,  485. 

Rural  Sports,  Gay,  141. 

Ruysdael,  356. 


Sacred  Writings,  89,  104,  no,  in  ; 
influence  on  religious  and  intellec- 
tual progress,  in.  See  Automatic 
Writing,  Bible,  and  Inspiration. 

Salient  points  alone  brought  out  in 
art,  147. 

Samson,  147. 

Sarcasm,  306-309. 

Sargent's  portraits,  362. 

Satan,  Milton's,  276,  277. 

Satire,  306-309. 

Saxe,  Marshal,  monument,  486. 

Scenery  as  affecting  architecture, 
430,  431.  See  Architecture  and 
Descriptive  Poetry. 

Schiller,  230,  231,  254,  255,  263, 
265. 

School  of  Athens,  Raphael,  354, 
419.  482. 

Science,  an  aid  to  art,  154,  211,  212, 
229-232  ;  contrasted  with  art,  62- 
64,  87,  94,  137-155,  164-180,  193, 
194,  206,  213,  253,  254,  271,  272  ; 
contrasted  with  religion,  62-64, 
87,  94,  137-155-  164,  165,  174- 
180,  193,  194;  helped  by  imagi- 
nation, 151-154,  170-173  ;  its 
characteristic,  knowledge,  64,  94, 
155,  164;  its  method,  investiga- 
tion, 63,  87,  137,  155  ;  not  neces- 
sarily causing  culture,  253,  254  ; 
subject-matter  versus  that  of  art, 
141,  146. 

Science,  of  ^Esthetics,  Day,  276,  280, 
433  ;  of  Beauty,  Bascom,  280, 
378  ;  of  Religion,  Mliller,  90. 

Science,  painting  by  Kaulbach,  354. 

Scientific-Artistic  tendency  in  art, 
271-274,  311,  389. 


Scientific,  art  in  architecture  ranks 
high,  381,  382  ;  conceptions  con- 
ditioned by  dominance  of  conscious 
over  subsconscious  intellection, 
87,  88,  94,  137,  139,  144-146, 
148-151,  153,  155,  271,  272  ;  sig- 
nificance, how  derived,  62-64  » 
source  of  truth,  94  ;  versus  artis- 
tic conceptions,  62-64,  87,  88,  94, 
137,  139,  146,  I5I-I55,  164,  165, 
171-180,  193,  194,  211-213;  ver- 
sus religious  conceptions,  62-64, 
87,  94,  137-165,  174-180,  193, 
194. 

Scientist  versus  the  artist,  129,  133, 
140,  144,  148-150,  172,  211-220, 
234,  235,  253,  254. 

Scott,  Sir  W.,  141,  236,  346,  399, 
445,  447,  471  ;  his  poetic  descrip- 
tion, 447. 

Scriptures,  89,  104.     See  Bible. 

Sculpture,  162,  191,  203,  204,  266; 
distinguished  from  painting,  479- 
489 ;  distinguished  from  poetry, 
483  ;  dramatic,  325,  369  ;  epic, 
325,  368  ;  realistic,  325,  368  ;  sig- 
nificance as  indicated  in,  424, 
425  ;  space-effects  must  not  ex- 
clude suggestion  of  time-effects, 
424,  425  ;  statues  may  be  large, 
488  ;  subjects  must  be  dignified, 
487,  488  ;  symbolic,  325,  367  ; 
unity  and  progress  in,  424,  425. 

Seances,  spiritualistic,  Si,  100-103. 

Seasons,  Thompson,  201,  447. 

Second  childhood  as  related  to  con- 
trol of  subconscious  powers,  222. 

Self-Consciousness  fatal  to  artistic 
success,  219. 

Self-Dependence,  M.  Arnold,  95. 

Senses,  appeal  of  art  to  the,  I,  2. 

Sensual  in  art,  2. 

Sensuous  in  art,  2. 

Sentence,  a,  represents  in  words  a 
mode  of  operation,  35-37. 

Sentiment,  as  expressed  in  art,  254- 
269 ;  characterizing  the  artist, 
255,  256  ;  what  it  means,  254, 

255- 

Shakespeare,  143,  167,  168,  178,  200, 
201,  220,  230,  231,  246,  258,  263, 
266,  278,  283,  287-290,  298,  305, 


5io 


REPRESENTATIVE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 


Shakespeare  —  Continued. 

307,  308,  321,  348,  400,  401,  456, 
457  ;  ethical  in  aims,  263—265  ; 
was  educated,  266. 

Shelley,  344,  452,  453,  457. 

Sheridan,  227. 

She  was  a  Phantom  of  Delight, 
Wordsworth,  457. 

Sibyls,  104. 

Siege  of  Corinth,  Byron,  463. 

Siegfried.  Wagner,  201,  351. 

Significance,  artistic,  as  influenced 
by  the  body,  208-268  ;  by  the 
mind,  137—207  ;  distinctions  be- 
tween artistic,  religious,  and  sci- 
entific, 62-64,  177,  256-265; 
elements  of,  in  different  appear- 
ances in  nature,  5-11  ;  in  different 
classes  of  art,  270-275  ;  its  mean- 
ing in  architecture,  375,  376,  426  ; 
meaning  of,  in  art,  2-4,  u,  62- 
64  ;  the  thing  meant  by  a  signal, 
3.  See  Artistic  Conceptions,  Re- 
ligious, and  Scientific. 

Signs  and  Wonders  not  tests  of 
truth,  102,  117,  1 1 8. 

Simple,  the,  274,  275,  287,  288,  290, 
293-295,  297,  299,  303,  305,  311, 
389- 

Sincerity  not  the  same  as  truth,  53, 

54- 

Sistine  Chapel,  Angelo's  painting 
in,  48,  355  ;  music  in,  202. 

Sketches  in  Palestine,  Hammond, 
398. 

Skill,  necessary  to  art-production, 
131,  134  ;  relation  to  mastery  of 
conscious  powers  for  subconscious 
expression,  70-72,  221-227. 

Skylark,  To  a,  Shelley,  457. 

Sludge  the  Medium,  Browning,  347. 

Smith,  Joseph,  104,  105  ;  Sydney, 
296,  299,  301. 

Soldier's  Return,  relief  on  monu- 
ment, 369,  481. 

Sonnet,  C,  Shakespeare,  265  ;  on 
Blindness,  Milton,  130. 

Sophocles,  443. 

Sorcery  and  Witchcraft,  Hebrew 
laws  against  them,  82,  84,  no, 
i  ir. 

Sordello,  Browning,  402. 


Soul  in  an  art-product  is  the  same  as 
emotion,  211. 

Soul  of  Things,  The,  Denton,  120. 

Southey,  450. 

Space,  arts  appearing  in,  versus  in 
time,  434,  435  ;  as  delineated  in 
architecture,  426-431  ;  in  land- 
scape-gardening, 415-417  ;  in 
painting,  417-423  ;  in  sculpture, 
423-425  ;  is  suggested  through 
forms  of  elocution,  410-414  ;  of 
music, 403-410;  of  nature,  3-1 1 ;  of 
poetry,  390-402  ;  suggests  in  con- 
nection with  time-effects  in  nature, 
methods  of  operation,  organism, 
and  import,  7-11  ;  the  divine  in- 
telligence and  character,  22-25  \ 
the  infinite,  eternal,  and  absolute, 
15-21,  59  ;  the  truth,  28-30. 

Spencer,  14,  24,  29,  94,  165. 

Spenser,  263,  330. 

Spinoza.  154. 

Spirit,  of  the  times,  129  ;  truth  to  the 
divine,  50,  51. 

Spiritual,  62,  100  ;  communications, 
ioo-ro3,  108,  109,  113,  114; 
development  through  struggle,  51, 
187-189  ;  discernment,  41,  43, 
114  ;  existing  in  subconscious  re- 
gion, 64-66,  94-122,  127-136, 
156-161,  176,  183-189  ;  life  and 
progress  dependent  on  freedom 
from  formula,  50-60,  187-189  ; 
life  as  cultivated  on  earth,  56-60  ; 
life  as  developed  by  suggestive 
influences,  187-189  ;  promptings 
of,  from  subconscious  region,  156- 
161  ;  significance  or  meaning  of 
the,  64,  65  ;  unity  of,  in  Christ, 
all  men,  and  God,  184. 

Spiritualism,  modern,  79-85,  101- 
103,  132. 

Spiritualist  Mediums,  79-85,  100- 
103. 

Spiritualists,  127,  227. 

Standards  of  belief,  important,  107. 

Statements  cannot  express  all  the 
truth,  30,  40,  114.  See  Creeds 
and  Formulae. 

Statue,  each  in  groups  has  by  itself 
an  individual  interest,  485-487  ; 
is  thebest  product  of  sculpture,  484. 


INDEX. 


Statuesque,  the,  versus  the  pictur- 
esque, 479-482,  484-489. 

St.  Gaudens,  367. 

St.  Isaac's.  St.  Petersburg,  379. 

St.  Mark's,  Venice,  385. 

Storm,  J.  F.  Millet,  365. 

St.  Peter's,  Rome,  379. 

Stranger,  The,  Baudelaire,  328. 

Striking,  the,  274,  275,  287-290, 
293-295,  299,  302-304,  311,  389. 

Struggle  necessary  to  spiritual 
development,  51,  187-189. 

St.     Sophia,     Constantinople,     381, 

385. 

Subconscious  action  of  mind,  as  re- 
lated to  conscience,  109,  no,  156- 
161  ;  as  related  to  conscious 
action,  64-67,  86-88,  93-98,  129- 
J36,  155-161,  210,  211,  214- 
229,  271  ;  blending  of  it  with  con- 
scious action  in  imaginative  art, 
62-64,  87,  94,  129,  130-136,  155, 
156,  159-161,  210,  211,  222-229, 
271  ;  characteristic  of  all  artists, 
214,  219,  220  ;  characteristic  of 
genius,  225-229;  controlling  phys- 
ical action,  65,  66;  degree  of 
truth  derived  from,  105-127  ;  de- 
termining artistic  results  of  imag- 
ination, 129,  130,  149-154,  210, 
214,  218,  219,  223-227,  229  ;  de- 
veloped at  the  same  time  as 
conscious,  222-230  ;  distinguished 
from  conscious,  65,  66  ;  dominat- 
ing conscious  in  religion,  87,  93, 
94,  131,  156-162,  175,  27r  ;  ex- 
pressed through  imagination,  213, 
214  ;  in  animals  and  men,  91-104  ; 
influenced,  as  in  hypnotism,  by 
suggestion,  68-70,  105-110,  136, 
176-191  ;  in  logic,  71,  72  ;  in 
mathematics,  71-73  ;  in  memory, 
66-70  ;  in  music,  71-73  ;  most  ap- 
parently influential  among  the  un- 
educated. 92-99,  109,  no;  occa- 
sioning literary  obscurity,  214; 
sources  of  the  conceptions  dc-ived 
through  it.  127,  128. 

Sublime  and  Beautiful,  Essay  on, 
Burke,  277-279,  284. 

Sublime,  the,  274,  276-280,  282- 
2i;o  ;  a  phase  «>f  the  beautiful, 


285,  286  ;  its  relation  to  the  pic- 
turesque and  the  brilliant,  274, 
282. 

Suckling,  457. 

Suggestion,  and  form  connected  in 
art,  133  ;  as  influencing  faith,  176, 
177,  181-191  ;  as  influencing  the 
subconscious  mind,  68-70,  105- 
no,  136,  176-191  ;  in  styles  of 
architecture,  376  ;  rather  than  ex- 
act dogmatic  statement  develops 
spiritual  life,  187-189  ;  scientific 
formulation  distinguished  from 
it,  193,  194;  spiritually  influential 
as  distinguished  from  analogical 
representation,  175,  189-191  ;  the 
basis  of  art-influence,  68.  69,  189 
-IQI,  241  ;  the  basis  of  hypnotic 
influence,  68-70,  105-110,  176, 
177,  181-187. 

Suggestions,  the  elementary,  of 
nature,  6— n. 

Suleymaniya  Mosque,  379. 

Summer  Night,  The,  Van  Beers, 
363. 

Supernatural,  65,  100  ;  visions  of 
negroes  and  Indians,  99,  TOO. 

Supernormal,  65,  100 ;  gifts,  74 ; 
medical  practice,  74. 

Swedenborg,  99,  104,  105. 

Swedenborgians,  128. 

Swift.   306. 

Swinburne,  335,  460. 

Symbolic,  music,  325,  350 ;  paint- 
ing, 325,  353,  354,  477  ;  poetry, 
325,  327-330 ;  sculpture,  325, 
367,  368. 

Sympathy,  characteristic  of  art  and 
artist,  240—250  ;  necessity  of,  in. 
art,  129. 

Symphony,  the,  325,  350,  351. 


Taine,  his  criterion  of  rank  of  art- 
works, 317-319  ;  his  Ideal  in  Art, 

317,433. 

Taj-Mahal,  the,  386. 
Talfourd,  438. 
Taming    the    Shrew,    Shakespeare, 

264. 

Tannhauser.  352,  410. 
Ta-k,  i  owper.  332,  447. 


512      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF  FORM. 


Technique,  importance  of,  vi.  ;  why 
artists  seem  supremely  interested 
in,  244. 

Temperament,  Artistic,  210,  216- 
220  ;  all  children  have,  218 ; 
differs  from  scientific  mainly  in 
degree  of  emotive  susceptibility, 
219  ;  individual,  yet  reflective  of 
natural  and  human  surroundings, 
234,  235,  248  ;  not  destroyed  by 
cultivation,  227-232 ;  not  mani- 
fested in  the  physical  alone,  216, 
217. 

Tempest,  Shakespeare,  201. 

Teniers,  245,  309,  321,  361. 

Tennyson,  142,  145,  242,  258,  281, 
282,  330,  334,  343,  345  ;  his  de- 
scriptions, 450,  451,  458  ;  his 
Homeric  repetitions,  395  ;  his  mu- 
sical effects,  459,  462  ;  his 
poetry  versus  that  of  Byron,  462- 
465  ;  why  not  appreciated  by 
foreigners,  462,  463,  465. 

Thanatopsis,  Bryant,  335. 

The  Day  is  Done,  Longfellow,  197, 
458. 

Theology,  natural,  claims  and  argu- 
ments of,  21-25. 

Theosophists,  82. 

The  Three  Ages,  Titian,  421. 

Thompson,  201,  334,  335,  447. 

Thought  and  emotion  necessarily  go 
together,  3,  212,  213  ;  as  derived 
from  nature,  5  ;  as  influenced  by 
art,  2-5  ;  in  essence  is  comparison, 
212.  See  Significance. 

Time,  arts  appearing  in,  versus 
space,  434,  435  ;  as  reproduced 
through  movement  in  elocution, 
410-414;  in  music,  403-410;  in 
poetry,  393-402 ;  is  suggested 
through  forms  of  architecture, 
426-431  ;  of  landscape-gardening, 
415-417  ;  of  painting,  417-423  J 
of  sculpture,  423-425  ;  suggests, 
in  connection  with  space,  methods 
of  operation,  organism,  life,  and 
import,  7-11  ;  the  divine  intelli- 
gence and  character,  22—25,  59> 
60  ;  the  infinite,  eternal,  and  abso- 
lute, 15-21,  58-60;  truth,  28,  29, 
58-60. 


Tintern  Abbey,  Lines  Composed 
a  few  Miles  above,  Wordsworth, 
95,  153,  172. 

Titian,  203,  245,  266,  435  ;  his 
character-portraits,  362,  421,  422. 

Tom,  Blind,  73. 

Tradition  and  insight,  122-125. 

Traditionalism,  135. 

Trajan,  Column  of,  484. 

Trance,  conditions,  100-103,  107- 
109  ;  speakers,  100-103  ;  truth  as 
obtained  through,  107-109. 

Transcendentalists  of  New  England, 
iv. 

Travesty,  295,  298. 

Troilus  and  Cressida,  Shakespeare, 
201,  348,  456. 

True,  meaning  of  the  adjective,  27, 
32-38  ;  the,  274/275,  284,  294, 
295,  297,  299,  300,  311,  389. 

Truth,  as  derived  from  nature,  27- 
30  ;  as  derived  from  trance-con- 
ditions dependent  on  lack  of  bias 
in  the  mind  receiving  it,  108,  100  : 
as  its  meaning  is  determined  by 
arguments  of  the  Bible,  43—45  ; 
by  its  history,  41,  42  ;  by  its  in- 
junctions, 45-48  ;  by  its  parables, 
44,  45  ;  by  its  prophecies,  42,  43  ; 
by  its  uses  of  the  word  truth,  48, 
49  ;  by  the  words  of  the  Christ, 
44,  45  ;  change  in  its  form  not  in- 
consistent with  its  absoluteness  and 
eternity,  51-56  ;  conformity  to  an 
absolute  method,  32,  38  ;  connec- 
tion between  it  and  a  method  of 
operation,  25,  27-38,  62  ;  danger 
of  confounding  it  with  a  formula, 
52-54  ;  degree  of  it  derived  from 
subconscious  intellection,  105- 
127  ;  from  inspiration  of  the 
Bible,  109-115  ;  general  discus- 
sion of  its  nature,  26-60  ;  its 
progress  and  permanence,  52- 
55  ;  of  life,  is  conformity  to  right 
methods,  55  ;  of  the  Bible,  is 
literary  and  suggestive,  not  literal 
and  formulative,  176-181,  183- 
188  ;  personal  bias  of  artistic,  234, 
235  ;  results  of,  as  expressed  in 
language  and  life,  39-60  ;  signs 
and  wonders  no  test  of,  102,  117, 


INDEX. 


513 


Truth  —  Continued. 

1 1 8  ;  source  to  which  men  attrib- 
ute it,  27-32  ;  tests  of,  122-127  ; 
terms  applied  to,  32-38  ;  the  ab- 
solute, eternal,  or  infinite,  32,  38, 
46,  47  ;  the  word  truth  as  used  in 
the  Bible,  48,  49  ;  to  the  spirit, 
what  it  is,  50,  51. 

Truths  and  the  truth,  46. 

Tucker,  Dr.,  74. 

Turner,  356. 

Twain,  Mark,  299. 

Twelfth    Night,   Shakespeare,    143, 
264. 

Twenty  Years,  Barateau,  342. 

Typical  nature  of   Biblical    charac- 
ters, 43,  44. 


Unconscious,  Philosophy  of  the, 
Von  Hartmann,  70. 

Unconsciousness,  associated  with  in- 
spiration, 132,  133  ;  as  distin- 
guished from  self-consciousness,  a 
characteristic  of  the  true  artist, 
71,  72,  225,  239,  246.  See  Sub- 
conscious. 

Unities,  the  law  of,  in  the  drama, 
443-446. 

Unity,  and  progress  in  art-form, 
390-392  ;  illustrated  in  the  differ- 
ent arts,  390-430 ;  portrayed  in 
architecture,  landscape-gardening, 
painting,  and  sculpture,  415-431  ; 
suggested  in  poetry  and  music, 
390-414  ;  wanting  in  many  streets 
and  public  buildings,  428,  429. 

Unknowable,  philosophy  of  the, 
Spencer,  14,  24. 

Up  the  Rhine,  Hood,  300. 


Van  Beers,  363. 

Vaulted    Support    or    round    arch, 

architecture  of,  325,  377-380. 
Vedder,  354. 
Velasquez,  203. 

Venus  of  the  Capitol,  statue,  487. 
Venuses,  their  significance,  425. 
Verse    effects    of    unity  and    space 

produced     in     connection      with 

movement,  394-398. 
33 


Vibratory  nature  of  nervous  excita- 
tion, 68. 

Vienna,  monument  to  Maria  Chris- 
tina at,  486. 

Violent,    the,    275,    289,    290,    302, 

304,  3ii. 
Virgil,  204. 
Vision,  of  Constantine,  Raphael, 

364  ;  of  Sir  Launfal,  Lowell,  284. 
Visions   of   animals  and  men,    97- 

100  ;  communication  by  means  of, 

97-100. 

Voice,  influence  of  a  musical,  202. 
Voisin,  M.  A.,  182,  183. 
Voyage  of  Life,  Cole,  418,  419,  478. 


Wagner,  201,  308,  351,  352,  407- 
410,  469  ;  a  great  composer  of 
melody,  409  ;  composed  harmony 
from  melodies,  409  ;  subordinated 
melody  to  harmony,  409. 

Wallace,  A.  F.,  108. 

Wallenstein,  Death  of,  Piloty,  361. 

Ward.  Artemus,  301. 

Washington,  84  ;  prophecy  about, 
78,  105. 

Washington,  doors  of  Capitol  at, 
368,  484,  486  ;  National  Library 
at,  367. 

Way,  truth  as  the,  48,  49. 

Webster,  221,  222. 

Wedding,    Ballad    on    a,    Suckling, 

457- 

Welsh,  299,  302,  303. 
West,  Benjamin,  488  ;  Gilbert,  143. 
Westminster    Bridge,    Wordsworth, 

336. 

Whately,  393. 

When  Sparrows  Build,  song,  201. 
Whipple,  301-303. 
Whittier,  200. 
Willems,  359. 
Winkelmann,  286. 
Winter's  Tale,  Shakespeare,  456. 
Wit,  295,  298-309. 
Wit     and     Humor,     Lectures    on, 

Smith,  299,  301  ;  Whipple,  301- 

303. 

Witchcraft  and  Sorcery,  Hebrew 
laws  against,  82,  84,  85,  no, 


514      REPRESENTATIVE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  FORM. 


Woman  Taken  in  Adultery,  Poussin, 

364- 

Wonders.     See  Signs. 

Worcester's  Dictionary,  302. 

Words,  meanings  of,  determined  by 
methods  of  operation  indicated, 
35-37  J  not  always  needed  when 
communicating  thought,  97  ;  sig- 
nificance of,  versus  tones,  455  ; 
visual  effects  of,  on  imagination, 

455-459- 

Wordsworth,  94,  96,  139,  144,  152, 
168,  169,  172,  199,  228,  257,  263, 
265,  288,  334-336.  440,  457, 
471  ;  description  of,  suggesting 


movement,  400  ;  not  suggesting 
it,  446,  448,  449  ;  poems  of  his 
difficult  to  classify.  335. 

Wrestlers,  statue,  369. 

Writing,  Automatic  or  Spiritualistic, 
80,  104,  105. 

Written  Scriptures,  intellectual  and 
spiritual  influence  of,  in  ;  why 
trustworthy,  no.  See  Bible,  In- 
spiration, and  Religious. 

Wyatt,  380,  381. 

Young,  333. 
Zeit  Geist,  129. 


POEMS  BY  PROF.  QEO.  L.  RAYMOND 


A  Life  in  Song.     16°,  cloth  extra,  gilt  top  ....     $1.00 

"Mr.  Raymond  is  a  poet,  with  all  that  the  name  implies.  He  has  the  true  fire — there  is 
no  disputing  that.  There  is  thought  of  an  elevated  character,  the  diction  is  pure,  the 
versification  is  true,  the  metre  correct,  and  .  .  .  affords  innumerable  quotations  to  fortify 
and  instruct  one  for  the  struggles  of  life." — Hartford  Post. 

"  Marked  by  a  fertility  and  strength  of  imagination  worthy  of  our  first  poets.    .    .    .    The 
versification  throughout  is  graceful  and  thoroughly  artistic,  the  imagery  varied  and  spon- 
taneous,   .    .    .    the  multitude  of  contemporary  bardlings  may  find  in  its  sincerity  of  pur- 
pose and  loftiness  of  aim  a  salutary  inspiration." — The  Literary  World  (Boston). 
"  Original  and  noble  thoughts,  gracefully  put  into  verse.    .    .    .    Mr.  Raymond  thoroughly 
understands  the  true  poet  s  science,  man.   — The  Literary  World  (London). 
44  It  is  rarely  that  we  meet  with  a  writer  who  combines,  in  so  natural  and  at  the  same  time 
so  attistic  a  manner,  the  graces  of  the  poet  with  the  subleties  of  the  philosopher."— Jewish 
Messenger. 

44 A  remarkably  fine  study  of  the  hopes,  aspirations,  and  disappointments  of  ...  an 
American  modern  life.  .  .  .  The  author  sees  poetry,  and  living  poetry,  where  the  most  of 
men  see  prose.  .  .  .  'A  Life  in  Song '  is  not  only  dramatic  in  tendency,  but  is  singularly 
realistic  and  acute.  .  .  .  The  volume  will  appeal  to  a  large  class  of  readers  by  reason  of 
its  clear,  musical,  flexible  verse,  its  fine  thought,  and  its  intense  human  interest." — Boston 
Transcript. 

Ballads  of  the  Revolution,  and  other  Poems.     16°,  cloth  extra,  gilt 
top $  .75 

44  Notable  examples  of  what  may  be  wrought  of  native  material  by  one  who  has  a  tasteful 
ear  and  practised  hand.  .  .  .  There  is  true  enjoyment  in  all  that  he  has  written." — Bos- 
ton Globe. 

"  The  work  of  a  genuine  poet." — N.  Y-  Evening  Post. 

"A  very  unusual  success,  a  success  to  which  genuine  poetic  power  has  not  more  con- 
tributed than  wide  reading  and  extensive  preparation.  The  ballads  overflow,  not  only 
with  the  general,  but  the  very  particular  truths  of  history." — Cincinnati  Times. 
"The  ballads  are  spirited  and  stimulating.  .  .  .  The  miscellaneous  poems  are  agreeable 
.  .  .  The  drama  entitled  'Haydn'  .  .  .  contains  many  powerful  passages." — The  Con- 
gregationalist. 

Sketches  in  Song.     16°,  cloth  extra    .         .         .         .         .         .     $>  .75 

"A  work  of  true  genius,  brimful  of  imagination  and  sweet  humanity." — The  Fireside 
(London). 

44  Fine  and  strong,  its  thought  original  and  suggestive,  while  its  expression  is  the  very 
perfection  of  narrative  style.  — The  N.  Y.  Critic. 

44  Proves  beyond  doubt  that  Mr    Raymond  is  the  possessor  of  a  poetic  faculty  which  is 
worthy  of  the  most  careful  and  conscientious  cultivation."— A7".  Y.  Evening  Post. 
4'A  very  thoughtful  study  of  character    .    .  .   great  knowledge  of  aims  and  motives.    .    .   . 
Such  as  read  this  poem  will  derive  from  it  a  benefit  more  lasting  than  the  mere  pleasure 
of  t..e  moment." — The  Spectator  (London). 

"Mr.  Raymond  is  a  poet  emphatically,  and  not  a  scribbler  in  rhyme." — Literary  Church- 
man (London). 

Pictures  in  Verse.     With  20  illustrations  by  Maud  Stumm.     Square  8°, 
in  ornamental  cloth  covers         .          .          .          .          .          .          .     $  .75 

44  Little  love  poems  of  a  light  and  airy  character,  describing  pretty  rustic  scenes,  or  do- 
mestic interiors.  ...  As  charming  for  its  illustrations  as  for  its  reading  matter." — De- 
troit Free  Press. 


G.    P.    PUTNAM'S   SONS 

NEW   YORK  LONDON 

27  West  Twenty-third  Street  24  Bedford  Street,  Strand 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN 


CENTS 


WILL  BE  ASSESSED-'^OR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  OJM^THE  DAYfi^DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


m*K  tfU  193fi~ 

MO¥$2I§4® 

ADD    1  fli  1QA7 

Ai  n   AU  I«T*I 

IUN  5    1956      T 

MAY  3  11256LU 

•   -;  jC^u"Z 

p-C'O  CD 

iftKl^tSSS 

^  '-  %     ' 

13Apr'6lLC 

:     ~~^        ' 

r.A 

w-m*1 

LD  2i-100m-7,'33 

VCII 6549 


g- 


